Season 3: Smalladder
by Chris the Metis
Summary: Regency of Sodor what more crazy than a scheming butler name Percy, half-wit dogbody called Thomas and a buffoon Prince James! Allot of things!
1. Dish and Dishonesty

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode One**  
**Dish and Dishonesty**

"Percy takes on the task of saving his royal master from bankruptcy at the hands of the new Prime Minister. Unfortunately, his attempts to interfere with the democratic process don't quite go according to plan as Thomas is accidentally elevated to the House of Lords."

**Guest Starring:**  
Harold the Helicopter as Mr. Harold, his own great great great grandfather  
Wilbert the Forest Engine as Sir Wilbert Forest, a member of Parliament  
Duck the Great Western Engine as Duck the Younger, the Prime Minister, great western  
S. C. Ruffy as Scruffy, a candidate  
Stanley the American Engine as Duck the even Younger, a tiny great western  
BoCo the Dieasel Engine as Brigadier General Bob Connery, candidate

At Molly' home

Percy: Well, Molly, at last we can return to sanity. The hustings are over, the bunting is down, the mad hysteria is at an end. After the chaos of a general election, we can return to normal.

Molly: Oh, has there been a general election, then, Mr. Percy?

Percy: Indeed there has, Molly.

Molly: Oh, well, I never heard about it.

Percy: Well of course you didn't; you're not eligible to vote.

Molly: Well, why not?

Percy: Because virtually no-one is: women,(looks at Thomas) chimpanzees (Thomas looks behind himself, trying to see the animal), lunatics, Lords...

Thomas: That's not true - Lord Bulldog Duke's got a vote!

Percy: He's got a *boat*, Thomas. Marvellous thing, democracy. Look at Man: population, 500; electoral roll, 300.

Molly: Well, I may have the brain the size of a sultana...

Percy: Correct...

Molly: ...but it hardly seems fair to me.

Percy: Of course it's not fair - and a damn good thing too. Give the like of Thomas the vote and we'll be back to cavorting druids, death by stoning, and spuds for dinner.

Thomas: Oh, I'm having spuds for dinner tonight.

Molly: So, who are they electing when they have these elections?

Percy: Ah, the same old story: fat Great Western landowners who get made MPs when they reach a certain weight; raving revolutionaries who think that just because they do a day's work that somehow gives them the right to get paid... Basically, it's a right old mess. Toffs at the top, plebs at the bottom, and me in the middle making a fat pile of cash out of both of them.

Molly: Oh, you'd better watch out, Mr. Percy; things are bound to change.

Percy: Not while Duck the Elder's Prime Minister they aren't. He's about as effective as a catflap in an elephant house. As long as his feet are warm and he gets a nice cup of milky tea in the sun before his morning nap, he doesn't bother anyone until his potty needs emptying.

In the House of Commons (occasionally, sheep are heard in the background)

(a voice, the Speaker)

Speaker: Honourable members of the House of Commons, I call upon the new Prime Minister of Sodor and Her Empires: Mr. Montague Duck Western, the Younger.

Duck: Mr. Speaker, members of the House: I shall be brief, as I have, rather unfortunately, become Prime Minister right in the middle of my exams I look forward to fulfilling my duty in a manner of which Nanny would be proud. I shall introduce legislation to utterly destroy three enemies of the State. The first is that evil dictator, Mr Percival.

(Members shout 'Here here!')

Duck: The second is my old Geography master, William Crewe. But most of all, sirs, I intend to pursue that utter slob, The Prince of Brendam! Why, this year alone, he has spent 300,000 pounds on banqueting (shouts of 'boo! boo!'), 700,000 pounds on Canadian booze (members all hold their noses), and - most astonishing of all - an astonishing 800,000 pounds on socks! Therefore, my three main policy priorities are: 1) War with Ireland; 2) Tougher sentences for geography teachers; and 3) A right royal kick of the Prince's backside!

(all members shout affirmatively)

Duck: I now put upon the leader of the Opposition to test me on my Latin vocab.

At Prince's House

Percy: Sir, if I may make so bold, a major crisis has arisen in your affairs.

Prince James: Yes, I know, Percy. I've been pondering it all morning.

Percy: You have, sir?

Prince James: Yes - socks! Run out again! Why is it that no matter how many millions of pairs of socks I buy, I never seem to have any?

Percy: Sir, with your forgiveness, there is another, even weightier, problem.

Prince James: They just...disappear! Honestly, you'd think someone was coming in here, stealing the damn things and then selling them off.

Percy: (laughs) Impossible, sir. Only you and I have access to your socks.

Prince James: Yes, yes, you're right. Still; for me, socks are like sex: tons of it about, and I never seem to get any.

Percy: Now, if I may return to this very urgent matter... I read fearful news in this morning's paper.

Prince James: Oh no... Not another little cat caught up in a tree...

Percy: No, sir. There's a vote afoot in the new Parliament to strike you from the Civil List.

Prince James: Oh, yes, yes, yes, but what are they going to do about my socks!

Percy: Sir, if this bill goes through, you won't have any socks.

Prince James: Well, I haven't got any socks at the moment!

Percy: ...or trousers, shirts, waistcoats, or pantaloons. They're going to bankrupt you.

Prince James: Well, they can't do that. Why, the public love me! Only the other day, I was out in the street and they sang, 'We hail Prince James! We hail Prince James!'

Percy: 'We *hate* Prince James', sir. 'We *hate* Prince James!'

Prince James: Was it?

Percy: I fear so, sir. However, all is not lost. Fortunately, the numbers in the Commons are exactly equal. If we can get one more MP to support us, then you're safe.

Prince James: Well, hurrah! Any ideas?

Percy: Well, yes, sir. There is one man who might be the ace up our sleeve. A rather crusty, loudmouthed ace named Sir Wilbert Forest.

Prince James: Never heard of him.

Percy: That's hardly surprising, sir. Sir Wilbert has the worst attendance record of any member of Parliament. On the one occasion he did enter the House of Commons, he passed water in the Great Hall, and then passed *out* in the Speaker's Chair. But if we can get him to support us, then we are safe.

Prince James: Well, what's he like?

Percy: Well, according to 'Who's Who', his interests include flogging servants, shooting poor people, and the extension of slavery to anyone who hasn't got a knighthood.

Prince James: Excellent! Sensible policies for a happier Sodor!

Percy: However, if we are to get him to support us, he will need some sort of incentive.

Prince James: Hmm. Anything in mind?

Percy: Well, you could appoint him a High Court judge...

Prince James: Is he qualified?

Percy: He's a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.

Prince James: Sounds a bit *over*qualified... Well, send him here at once!

Percy: Certainly, sir. I will return before you can say 'antidisestablishment- arianism'.

Prince James: Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that! 'Antidistibblincemin...' 'Antimistilinstid...' 'Antistits...'

(Caption: Two Days Later)

Prince James: Anti-distinctly-minty-ass...

Percy: (returns with Wilbert, who staggers) Your Highness: Sir Wilbert Forest, MP.

Prince James: Ah, Wilbert! Roaring splendid to have you here. How are you, sir?

Wilbert: Heartily well, Your Highness. I dined hugely off of servants before I come into town.

Prince James: Um, you eat your servants?

Wilbert: No, sir - I eat *off* them. Why should I spend good money on tables when I have men standing idle?

Prince James: Why, indeed! Now; I dare say you've heard of Mr. Duck's intentions...

Wilbert: Young scallywag!

Prince James: Ah, so you don't approve of his plans to abolish me, then.

Wilbert: I do not, sir. Damn his eyes! Damn his britches! Damn his duck pond!

Prince James: Well, hurrah for that!

Wilbert: I care not a jot that you are the son of a certified sauerkraut-sucking loon!

Prince James: Ah, thank you, sir.

Wilbert: It minds not me that you dress like a mad parrot and talk like a plate of beans negotiating their way out of a cow's digestive system. It is no skin off my rosy nose that there are bits of lemon peel floating down the Machan that would make better Regents than you.

Prince James: Well, bravo!

Wilbert: The fact is, you *are* Regent...

Prince James: Yes, I am...

Wilbert: ...appointed by Awdry, and I shall stick by you forever, though infirmity lay me waste and ill health curse my every waking moment. (falls into the chair)

Prince James: Ah, good on you, sir. And don't talk to me about infirmity. Why, sir, you are the hardy stock that is the core of Sodor's greatness. You have the physique of a demigod. Purple of cheek, and plump of fatlock, the shapely ankle and the well-filled trouser that tells of a human body in perfect working order.

Percy: (who has found Wilbert's stillness rather odd and is checking for a pulse) He's dead, sir.

Prince James: Dead?

Percy: Yes, Your Highness.

Prince James: Oh, what bad luck; we were rather getting on.

Percy: We must move at once.

Prince James: In which direction?

Percy: Sir Wilbert represented the constituency of Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, and, by an extraordinary stroke of luck, it is a rotten borough.

Prince James: Really! Is it! Well, lucky-lucky us. Lucky-lucky-luck. (as a chicken) Luck-luck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck- cluck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK.

Percy: You don't know what a rotten borough is, do you, sir.

Prince James: No.

Percy: So what was the chicken impression in aid of?

Prince James: Well, I just didn't want to hurt your feelings. Erm, so, what is a robber button?

Percy: *Rotten borough*.

Prince James: Oh, yes, you're right.

Percy: A rotten borough, sir, is a constituency where the owner of the land corruptly controls the both the voters and the MP.

Prince James: Good, yes...and a robber button is...?

Percy: Could we leave that for a moment? Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, is a tuppenny- ha'penny place. Half an acre of sodden marshland in the Maron with an empty town hall on it. Population: three rather mangy cows, a dachshund named 'Colin', and a small hen in its late forties.

Prince James: So, no people at all, then? apart from Colin...

Percy: Colin is a dog, sir.

Prince James: Well, yes, yes, yes...

Percy: Only one actual person lives there, and he is the voter.

Prince James: Well, right! So, what's the plan?

Percy: We must buy Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, at once and thus control the voter. I shall need a thousand pounds.

Prince James: A thousand pounds? I thought you said it was a...'tuppenny ha'penny' place.

Percy: Well, yes, sir, the land will cost tuppence-ha'penny, but there are many other factors to be considered: stamp duty, window tax, swamp insurance, hen food, dog biscuits, cow ointment - the expenses are endless.

Prince James: Fine. Well, the money's in my desk.

Percy: No, sir - it's in my wallet.

Prince James: Oh, splendid! No time to lose, eh?

Percy: My thoughts precisely, sir. The only question is who to choose as MP.

Prince James: Yeah, tricky.

Percy: What we need is an utter unknown yet someone over whom we have complete power. A man with no mind, with no ideas of his own. One might almost say a man with no brain. (he rings the servant bell)

Prince James: Well...any thoughts?

Percy: Yes, Your Highness.

(Thomas enters)

Thomas: You rang, My Lord?

Percy: (to James) Meet the new member of Parliament for Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life.

Prince James: But he's an absolute ass head!

Percy: Precisely, sir. Our slogan shall be: "A rotten candidate for a rotten borough." Thomas, I want you to go back to your kitchen sink, you see, and prepare for government.

At Thomas's/Percy's Quarters

Percy: Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. Name: 'Thomas'. Last name...?

Thomas: Er, I'm not sure.

Percy: Well, you must have some idea...

Thomas: Well, it might be 'Bullshit'.

Percy: What?

Thomas: Well, when I used to play in the gutter, I used to say to the other snipes, "Hello, my name's Thomas," and they'd say, "Yes, we know. Bullshit, Thomas."

Percy: All right, right right right right, 'Mr. B. Thomas'. Now; distinguishing features... 'None'.

Thomas: Well, I've got this big growth in the middle of my face.

Percy: That's your nose, Thomas. Now; any history of insanity in the family? Tell you what, I'll cross out the 'in'. Any history of *sanity* in the family? 'None whatsoever'. Now then; criminal record...

Thomas: Absolutely not.

Percy: Oh, come on, Thomas, you're going to be an MP, for Awdry's sake! I'll just put 'fraud, sexual deviancy, killing cows, raping sheep, swallowing chickens, stealing pigs from gypsies, hump trees, arson and stealing money from rich bastards'. Now; minimum bribe level...

Thomas: One potato. Oh, hang on, I don't want to price myself out of the market.

Percy: Thomas, I've always been meaning to ask: Do you have any ambitions in life apart from the acquisition of potato?

Thomas: Er, no.

Percy: So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?

Thomas: I'd get a little potato of my own.

Percy: So what would you do if I gave you a billion pounds?

Thomas: Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big potato in the country.

(someone knocks at the door)

Percy: Oh Awdry, I'll get that. Here (pushes paper to Thomas), sign here. (motions where with his hand; Thomas marks an 'X' on Percy's palm; Percy presses his palm against the application.)

At Prince's House

Percy: Your Highness; Duck the Younger.

Prince James: Why, hello there, young sabre, m'lad! I say, here's one: I've a shiny sixpence here and for the clever fellow who can tell me which hand it's in.

(Duck just stares.)

Prince James: Hmm? Oh, school, school! On half hols, is it? Yeah, I bet you can't wait to get back and get that bat in your hand and give those balls a good walloping, eh?

Percy: Mr. Duck is the Prime Minister, sir.

Prince James: Oh, go on! Is he? What, young Snotty here?

Duck: I'd rather have a runny nose than a runny brain.

Prince James: Eh?

Percy: Umm, excuse me, Prime Minister, but we do have some lovely jelly in the pantry, I don't know if you'd be interested at all...?

Duck: Don't patronise me, you lower middle class yobbo! (aside) What flavour is it?

Percy: Blackcurrant.

Duck: eeeeuuuuuaaaghhhh!

Prince James: I say, Percy, are you sure this is the PM? Seems like a bit of an oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five of his sort, make them bend over, and use them as a toastrack.

Duck: You don't surprise me, sir - I know your sort. Once, it was I who stood in the big, cold schoolroom, a hot crumpet burning my cheeks with shame. Since that day, I have been busy, every hour Awdry sends, working to become Prime Minister and fight sloth and privilege wherever I found it.

Percy: I trust you weren't too busy to remove the crumpet...

Duck: You will regret this, gentlemen. You think you can thwart my plans to bankrupt the Prince by fixing the Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, bye-election, but you will be thrashed! I intend to put up my own brother as a candidate against you.

Percy: Oh, and which Duck would this be: Duck the Toddler? Duck the Embryo? Duck the Glint in the Milkman's Eye?

Duck: Sirs, as I said to Chancellor Duncan at the Congress of Dublin Prince James: 'Pooh to you with knobs on!' We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings. (exits)

Prince James: I say, Percy, what a ghastly squit! He's not going to win, is he?

Percy: No, sir, because, firstly, we shall fight this campaign on issues, not personalities. Secondly, we shall be the only fresh thing on the menu. And thirdly, of course, we'll cheat.

At the Election Polls

(announcer, Harold, speaks)

Harold: Good evening an' welcome to Da Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, wot wot, bye-election. Da first thingummy I must tell ye is that Da turnout has been jolly good. As a matter fact, wot wot, Da voter turned out before brekkers. an' I ken bring ye Da result of our exclusive exit poll, wot wot, which produced a 100-percent result for "Mind-Your-Own-Business-You-Nosy-Bastard."

(a voice shouts out): Mr. Harold, are you going to talk to any of the candidates?

Harold: I certainly h'am, wot wot, an' I ken see Prince James, wot wot, who is leader of stow Da gab has become known as Da 'Small Party'; Prince James, wot wot, who is described in his party news sheet as a "great moral an' spiritual leader of Da nation," but is described by almost everyone else as a "fat, wot wot, flatulent, dirty stinky git." (to James) Prince James, wot wot, good day, wot wot?.

Prince James: (holding a dachshund) Good evening.

Harold: . . . .and good evening, wot wot, Colin. Er, wot wot, how do ye see yer prospects in this campaign?

Prince James: Well, er, first, I'd like a word about the disgraceful circumstances in which this election arose. We paid for this seat, and I think it's a damn liberty that we should have to stand for it as well. And another thing, why is it that no matter how many pairs of socks a man buys, he never seems to have enough? (leaves)

Harold: Fitting words from Da Prince James. an' now let's have a word from Da Smalladder Party candidate, wot wot, Mr. B. Thomas, wot wot, who so far has not (Thomas enters with a potato in his mouth) commented on his policies in this campaign, wot wot, but with him is his election agent, wot wot, Mr . S . Percy .

Percy: Well, we in the Smalladder Party are going to fight this campaign on issues, not personalities.

Harold: Why is that?

Percy: Because our candidate doesn't have a personality.

Harold: He doesn't say much about Da issues, wot wot, either.

Percy: No; he's got something wrong with his throat.

Harold: Well, wot wot, perhaps \'e could answer one question: stow Da gab does Da 'B' in his name stand for?

Percy: 'Bullshit'. (leaves)

Harold: Fair enough, wot wot, er , wot wot, none of me business, wot wot, really. an' now \'tis time, wot wot, I think, wot wot, for a result , wot wot, an' tension is running jolly high here. Mr. Percy assures me that this will be Da first honest vote ever in a rotten borough . an' I think we all hope for a result which reflects Da real needs of Da constituency. an' behind me . . .yes, wot wot, I ken just see Da Returning offisah moving to Da front of Da platform.

Percy: As the Acting Returning Officer of Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life,..

Harold: (cuts in) Er, wot wot, Da Acting Returning offisah, wot wot, Mr. S. Percy, wot wot, of course. an' we're all jolly grateful, wot wot, indeed, wot wot, that \'e stepped in at Da last minute, wot wot, when Da previous Returning offisah accidentally brutally stabbed himself in Da stomach while shaving.

Percy: I now announce the number of votes cast as follows: Brigadier General Bob Connery...

Harold: (cuts) Cheap-Royalty-White-Rat-Catching-And-Safe-Sewage Residents Party...

Percy: No votes.

(Boco pushes his way off platform)

Percy: Scruffy 'Jest-ye-not-madam' Trouble...

Harold: (cuts) Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party...

Percy: No votes.

(Scruffy laughs, plays a bazooka (kazoo) in Percy's ear, laughs more and waves)

Percy: Duck, the Even Younger...

Harold: (cuts) good Western...

Percy: No votes.

Harold: Oh, wot wot, there's a shock.

(Duck the Even Younger turns to his mum and cries)

Percy: Mr. B. Thomas...

Harold: (cuts) Smalladder Party...

Percy: Sixteen thousand, four hundred, and seventy-two.

(Cheers are heard.)

Harold: And there ye have it: victory for Da Small Party - a sensational swing against Da jolly good Western. I'll just try to get a final word from some of Da candidates as they come up from Da stage. Master William Duck Da Even Younger, wot wot, are ye disappointed?

Duck (the Even Younger): (stomps on) Yes! I'm horrified! I smeared my opponent, bribed the press to be on my side, and threatened to torture the electorate if we lost. I fail to see what more a decent politician could have done. (stomps off)

Harold: Quite. Now; Scruffy Trouble, wot wot, nah votes at all for Da Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party. Are ye disappointed?

Scruffy: Ah, no, not really, no... I always say, "If you can't laugh, what *can* you do?" Ha-ha-ha-ha (squirts Harold with flower).

Harold: . . .take up politics, wot wot, perhaps. Has yer party got any policies?

Scruffy: Oh yes, certainly! We're for the compulsory serving of asparagus at breakfast, free corsets for the under-fives, and the abolition of slavery.

Harold: Now, wot wot, ye see, wot wot, many moderate people would respect yer stand on asparagus, wot wot, but stow Da gab about this extremist nonsense about abolishing slavery?

Scruffy: Oh, we just put that in for a joke! See you next year!

Harold: And now, wot wot, finally , wot wot, a word with Da man who is at Da centre of this bye- election mystery: Da voter himself. an' his name is Mr. S. Per– Mr. Percy, wot wot, *you * are Da only voter in this rotten borough . . . ?

Percy: Yes, that's right.

Harold: How long have ye lived in this constituency?

Percy: Since Wednesday morning. I took over the previous electorate when he, very sadly, accidentally brutally cut his head off while combing his hair.

Harold: One voter, wot wot, 16,472 votes - a slight anomaly . . .?

Percy: Not really, Mr. Harold. You see, Thomas may look like a monkey who's been put in a suit and then strategically shaved, but he is a brilliant politician. The number of votes I cast is simply a reflection of how firmly I believe in his policies.

Harold: Well, wot wot, that's spiffin'. Er, wot wot, well, wot wot, that's all for me - another jolly good day for democracy in our country. Harold; Country Gentleman's Pig Fertilizer Gazette; Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life.

At Thomas/Percy's Quarters

Percy: Your reprieve (puts something on table). It is a triumph for stupidity over common sense.

Thomas: Thank you very much.

Percy: As a reward, Thomas, take a short holiday... Did you enjoy it? Right; on your way.

At House of Commons

(Thomas is wearing a powdered wig, with his natural hair sticking out from beneath)

Speaker: Will the honourable Members please cast their votes, 'aye' or 'nay', for the striking of the Prince James off the Civil List.

Thomas: (perplexed) Er, excuse me, excuse me (all others walk away to vote), er... EXCUSE ME!

Duck: (appears from behind Thomas's pew) Hello, chappie... You a new bug?

Thomas: Yeah, I don't know anyone here, and I support the Prince and I don't know how to vote!

Duck: Well, we can soon change all of that, can't we? Come along with me...

Thomas: Oh, thanks.

At Prince's House

(a knock at the door; Percy opens it to find Duck the Younger.)

Percy: Well, well, well: if it isn't the Lord Ducky Cracker! Pull up a cracker; sit yourself down.

Duck: You don't like me, do you, Mr. Percy?

Percy: Well, nobody likes a loser.

Duck: Oh, then that's why nobody likes *you*.

Percy: (serious) What?

Duck: You lost the vote. Your monkey obligingly voted for us.

Percy: Oh Awdry, no... If you want something done properly, kill Thomas before you start.

Duck: You're beaten, Oik! And you and your disgusting master have twenty-four hours to get out.

Percy: Twenty-four hours is a long time in politics. Good day.

Duck: There is just one thing before I go... (confidentially) I've got this sort of downy hair developing on my chest - is that normal? Also, I get so lonely and confused. I've written a poem about it; maybe you'll understand. "Why do nice girls hate me? Why-

Percy: Get out, you nauseating adolescent! (shoos him out the door) Piss off!

At Molly' home

(Thomas is tied to a spit; Molly turns it.)

Percy: How could I have been so stupid? Goodbye, Millionaire's Row; Hello, Room 12 of the Budley-Sortiton Twilight Rest Home for the Terminally Short of Cash!

Molly: ...and to think you once dreamed you'd end up in the House of Lords.

Percy: What?

Molly: The House of Lords.

Percy: Of course! I'd forgotten about the House of Lords! The Lords will never let the bill through. Every man-jack of them will be behind the Prince.

Molly: Oh, hurrah!

Percy: Right, take Thomas off the spit.

Thomas: Hurrah...

Percy: I've got a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.

(Sometime later, in Prince's House)

Percy: Da-daa!

Prince James: (looking through a telescope) Oi, tallyho, Percy! You look as happy as a man who thought a cat had done its business on his pie, but it turned out to be an extra big blackberry. Did our plan go well?

Percy: Excellently, sir. Order a thousand pairs of finest cotton socks; take out the drawings for that beach hut at Brighton...

Prince James: Hurrah!

Percy: There was, however, one slight - ahem - hiccup.

Prince James: No... 'cough', I think you mean.

Percy: No, sir... 'Hiccup'. The motion about your impoverishment has now moved on to the House of Lords.

Prince James: Oh, bravo! Well, no worry there, then. Every man-jack of them will be behind me.

Percy: Ah, would that were so, Your Highness. These are treacherous times.

Prince James: Are they?

Percy: Yes. It might be wise to appoint a *new* Lord, to make sure the old Lords vote the right way.

Prince James: Good thought... (ponders) New Lord...any idea who?

Percy: Well, sir, one name does leap to mind.

Prince James: Does it?

Percy: Yes, sir.

Prince James: You couldn't make it leap any higher, could you?

Percy: A young man in your service, sir, who has done sterling work matching the political machinations of the evil Duck.

Prince James: Ah, of course! Percy, oh, how can I ever thank you enough?

Percy: And it might also be worth bribing a few Lords, just to make sure they vote the way their consciences tell them.

Prince James: Oh, well, how many should we should bribe, do you think?

Percy: Oh, I think three hundred, to be sure...at a thousand pounds each.

Prince James: Three hundred thousand pounds?

Percy: *Four* hundred thousand, I think you'll find, sir.

(Prince tries to calculate this)

Prince James: Yes, yes, you're right. Well, thank Awdry I've got you to advise me, Smalladder. Just remind me, what do I have to do to appoint this Lord chappie?

Percy: Oh, it's very simple, sir. You put on your robes of State, he puts on his, then you sign the Document of Ennoblement and dispatch him at once to the House of Lords.

Prince James: Excellent! I shall change immediately. (leaves)

Percy: And so, sir, shall I.

At Thomas/Percy's Quarters

(Percy comes in with his 'Lords' robe)

Percy: Voila, Molly. My robes of State. My thousand pounds well spent, I think.

Molly: Oooohhh, very nice! Oooohhhhhh, it's real cat, isn't it?

Percy: This is not cat, Molly. This is finest, leather-trimmed ermine with gold medallion accessories.

Molly: Oh go on, Mr. Percy - it's cat. Oooh, look, they've left the little collars on!

Percy: (reads a collar) 'Mr. Frisky. If found, please return to Elizabeth Lorry, Marine Parade, Knapford'? oh Awdry! Ah, well, who cares about a dead cat now that I'm a fat cat.

Molly: Oooh, you're full of yourself today, Mr. S!

Percy: ...which is more than can be said for Mr. Frisky.

At the Prince's House

(Prince has on his robe of state; Percy enters)

Percy: My Lord...

Prince James: My Lord*sz*.

Percy: I'm sorry, sir?

Prince James: My Lord*sz*. There is more than one Lord in the vicinity.

Percy: (chuckles) Oh, well, yes...

Prince James: Will you please welcome His Grace, The Lord Thomas!

(Thomas enters wearing robe and hat of state; Percy is not at all happy.)

Percy: You made...Thomas a Lord?

Prince James: Well, yes. 'One who has recently done sterling work, matching the political machinations of the evil Duck' - good ol' Lord Thomas.

Thomas: It's alright, Percy - you don't have to curtsy or anything.

Percy: Sir, might I let loose a short, violent exclamation?

Prince James: Well, why certainly.

Percy: **DAMN**! Thank you, sir.

Prince James: I say, that's a bit of a strange getup you've got there, isn't it, Percy?

Percy: Yes, I'm just off to a fancy dress party - I'm going as Lady Elizabeth's pussy. There's just one question, sir. About the four hundred thousand to influence the Lords...

Prince James: Ah yes, I gave that to Lord Thomas.

Percy: Aaaah! Sir, might I be permitted to take Lord Thomas downstairs to give him some instruction on his Lordly duties?

Prince James: I think that's a splendid idea.

Percy: (to Thomas) This way...My Lord... (As he walks behind Thomas, he lifts his robe up on both ends, a la Dracula)

At Thomas/Percy's Quarters

(Percy is holding Thomas and thrusting his head against the table. Sitting on the table is a ten-foot wide potato.)

Percy: Give me the bloody money, Thomas, or you're dead! (stops thumping)

Thomas: 'Give me the bloody money, Thomas, or you're dead, *My Lord*'!

Percy: (one more thump) Just do it, Thomas! Otherwise, I shall further ennoble you by knighting you rather clumsily with this meat cleaver.

Thomas: I haven't got it.

Percy: What?

Thomas: I spent it.

Percy: You spent it? What could *you* possibly spend 400,000 pounds on?

(Thomas slowly looks toward the potato, smiling. Percy finally notices it.)

Percy: Oh, no... Oh, Awdry, don't tell me...

Thomas: ...my Dream Potato.

Percy: Thomas, how did you manage to find a potato that cost 400,000 pounds?

Thomas: Well, I had to haggle...

(Percy takes the potato and forces it down over Thomas's head)

Percy: This is the worst moment of my entire life. I spent my last penny on a catskin windcheater, and I've just broken a priceless potato.

(There's a knock at the door, and some non-Sudrain shouting from behind it)

Percy: ...and now I'm about to be viciously slaughtered by a naked Chinese sock merchant. And all I can say, Thomas, is this: it's the last time I dabble in politics!

(Thomas shrugs; end)


	2. Ink and Incapability

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode Two**  
**Ink and Incapability**  
Dr. Bluey approaches Prince "Thick-As-A-Whale-Omelette" James in an attempt to gain patronage for his new dictionary. Percy is at first unimpressed, but when he learns of Bluey's enthusiasm a novel by a certain "Turtleneck Dinner," the royal butler's attitude changes.

**Guest Starring:**  
Edward the Blue Engine as Dr. Edward Bluey, noted for his fat dictionary,  
Gordon the Big Engine as Lord Gordon Biggy \ ,  
Henry the Green Engine as Henry Greenboy, romantic junkie poets  
Murdoch the Mighty Engine as Murdoch Muscle,/

In Prince's House (in bedchamber)

Prince James: (wakes, shouts) Oh, oh, oh, Percy! Percy!

Percy: (enters) Your Highness.

Prince James: Wha-wha-what time is it?

Percy: Three o'clock in the afternoon, Your Highness.

Prince James: Oh, thank Awdry for that; I thought I'd overslept.

Percy: I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir...?

Prince James: Well, no, actually. The most extraordinary thing happened. Last night, I was having a bit of a snack at the Naughty Hellfire Club, and some fellow said that I had the wit and sophistication of a donkey.

Percy: Oh, an absurd suggestion, sir.

Prince James: You're right, it is absurd.

Percy: ...unless, of course, it was a particularly *stupid* donkey.

Prince James: You see? If only *I'd* thought of saying that...

Percy: Well, it is so often the way, sir, too late one thinks of what one *should* have said. Sir Zorran Stack, for instance - burned alive refusing to recant his Protestant - must have been kicking him- self, as the flames licked higher, that it never occurred to him to say, "I recant my Protestant."

Prince James: Well, yes, you see, only the other day, Prime Minister Duck called me an "idle scrounger," and it wasn't until ages later that I thought how clever it would've been to have said, "Oh, bugger off, you old fart!" I need to improve my mind, Percy. I want people to say, "That James, why, he's as clever as a stick in a bucket of pig swill."

Percy: And how do you suggest this miracle is to be achieved, Your Highness?

Prince James: Easy: I shall become best friends with the cleverest man in Sodor. That renowned brainbox, Dr. Edward Bluey, has asked me to be patron of his new book, and I intend to accept.

Percy: Would this be the long-awaited Dictionary, sir?

Prince James: Oh, who cares about the title as long as there's plenty of juicy murders in it. I hear it's a masterpiece.

Percy: No, sir, it is not. It's the most pointless book since "How To Learn Irish" was translated into Irish. (moves into living area)

Prince James: (follows) You haven't got anything personal against Bluey, have you Percy?

Percy: Good Lord, sir, not at all. In fact, I had never heard of him until you mentioned him just now.

Prince James: But you do think he's a genius...?

Percy: No, sir, I do not. Unless, of course, the definition of 'genius' in his ridiculous Dictionary is "a fat dullard or wobblebottom; a pompous ass with sweatly dewflaps." (presumably a mispronunciation of 'dewlaps')

Prince James: Oh, close shave there, then. Lucky you warned me. I was about to embrace this unholy arse to the royal bosom.

Percy: I'm delighted to have been instrumental of keeping your bosom free of arses, sir.

Prince James: Bravo - don't want to waste my valuable time with wobblebottoms. Er, fetch some tea, will you, Percy?

Percy: Certainly, sir.

Prince James: Oh, and make it two cups, will you? That splendid brainbox, Dr. Bluey, is coming round.

In Thomas/Percy's Quarters

Percy: (makes noise of disgust)

Thomas: Something wrong, Mr. S?

Percy: Oh, something's always wrong, Tommy. (dumps all bottles and glasses from the drinks tray he is carrying into a barrel, where they all break) The fact that I'm not a millionaire aristocrat with the sexual capacity of a rutting rhino is a constant niggle. But, today, something's even wronger. That globulous fraud, Dr. Bluey, is coming to tea.

Thomas: I thought he was the cleverest man in Sodor.

Percy: Thomas, I'd bump into cleverer people at a lodge meeting of the Guild of Village Idiots.

Thomas: That's not what you said when you sent him your navel.

Percy: *Novel*, Thomas - not navel. I sent him my novel.

Thomas: Well, novel or navel, it sounds a bit like a bag of grapefruits to me.

Percy: The phrase, Thomas, is "a case of sour grapes," and yes it bloody well is. I mean, he might at least have written back, but no, nothing, not even a "Dear Turtleneck Dinner: Thank you for your book. Get stuffed.  
-Edward Bluey."

Thomas: Turtleneck Dinner?

Percy: Yes, I gave myself a female pseudonym. Everybody's doing it these days: Mrs. Squarebox, Rusty-

Thomas: What, Rusty a man?

Percy: Of course - a huge Manishman with a beard like a rhododendron bush.

Thomas: Oh, quite a small one, then?

Percy: Well, compared to Dorothy Wordsworth's, certainly. Pug Saddle is the only real woman writing at the moment, and that's just because she wants to get inside Bluey's britches.

Thomas: Perhaps your book really isn't any good.

Percy: Oh, codswallop! It's taken me seven years, and it's perfect. "Percy: A Butler's Tale" - a giant roller coaster of a novel in four hundred sizzling chapters. A searing indictment of domestic servitude in the eighteenth century, with some hot gypsies thrown in. My magnum opus, Thomas. Everybody has one novel in them, and this is mine.

Thomas: And this is mine (takes a small piece of paper from the front of his trousers). My magnificent octopus.

Percy: (takes it) This is your novel, Thomas? (unfolds it)

Percy: (reads) "Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called 'Thomas', and it lived happily ever after."

Thomas: It's semi-autobiographical.

Percy: And it's completely utterly awful. Dr. Bluey will probably love it.

(a bell rings)

Percy: Oh, speak of the Britt. Well, I'd better go and make the great Doctor comfortable. Let's just see how damned smart Dr. Fatty-Know-It-All really is. (goes up stairway) Oh, and prepare a fire for the Prince, will you, Thomas?

Thomas: What shall I use?

Percy: Oh, any old rubbish will do. Paper's quite good. Here, (crumples up Thomas's 'novel') try this for starters (throws paper at Thomas).

In Prince's House

(knock at door)

Prince James: Enter!

Percy: Dr. Bluey, Your Highness.

Prince James: Ah, Dr. Bluey! Damn cold day!

Edward: Indeed it is, sir - but a very fine one, for I celebrated last night the encyclopaedic implementation of my pre-meditated orchestration of demotic Sudrain-Manx.

Prince James: (nods, grinning, then speaks) Nope - didn't catch any of that.

Edward: Well, I simply observed, sir, that I'm felicitous, since, during the course of the penultimate solar sojourn, I terminated my uninterrupted categorisation of the vocabulary of our post-Norman tongue.

Prince James: Well, I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds damn saucy, you lucky thing! I know some fairly liberal-minded girls, but I've never penultimated any of them in a solar sojourn, or, for that matter, been given any Norman tongue!

Percy: I believe, sir, that the Doctor is trying to tell you that he is happy because he has finished his book. It has, apparently, taken him ten years.

Prince James: Yes, well, I'm a slow reader myself...

Edward: (places two manuscripts on the table, but picks up the top one) Here it is, sir: the very cornerstone of Sudrain scholarship. This book, sir, contains every word in our beloved language.

Prince James: Hmm.

Percy: Every single one, sir?

Edward: (confidently) Every single word, sir!

Percy: (to Prince) Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if I also offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafribblarities.

Edward: What?

Percy: 'Contrafribblarites', sir? It is a common word down our way.

Edward: Damn! (writes in the book)

Percy: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm anus-peptic, phrasmotic, even compunctious to have caused you such pericombobulation.

Edward: What? What? WHAT?

Prince James: What are you on about, Percy? This is all beginning to sound a bit like dago talk to me.

Percy: I'm sorry, sir. I merely wished to congratulate the Doctor on not having left out a single word. (Edward sneers) Shall I fetch the tea, Your Highness?

Prince James: Yes, yes - and get that damned fire up here, will you?

Percy: Certainly, sir. I shall return interphrastically. (exits) (Edward writes some more)

Prince James: So, Dr. Bluey. Sit ye down. Now, this book of yours...tell me, what's it all about?

Edward: It is a book about the Sudrain language, sir.

Prince James: I see! And the hero's name is what?

Edward: There is no hero, sir.

Prince James: No hero? Well, lucky I reminded you. Better put one in pronto! Ermm... call him 'George'. 'George' is a good name for a hero. Er, now; what about heroines?

Edward: There is no heroine, sir...unless it is our Mother Tongue.

Prince James: Ah, the *mother's* the heroine. Nice twist. How far have we got, then? Old Mother Tongue is in love with George the Hero. Now what about murders? Mother Tongue doesn't get murdered, does she?

Edward: No she doesn't. No-one gets murdered, or married, or in a tricky situation over a pound note!

Prince James: Well, now, look, Dr. Bluey, I may be as thick as a whale omelette, but even I know a book's got to have a plot.

Edward: Not this one, sir. It is a book that tells you what Sudrain words mean.

Prince James: I *know* what Sudrain words mean; I *speak* Sudrain! You must be a bit of a thicko.

Edward: (stand) Perhaps you would rather not be patron of my book if you can see no value in it whatsoever, sir!

Prince James: (stands) Well, perhaps so, sir! As it sounds to me as if my being patron of this complete cowpat of a book would set the seal once and for all on my reputation as an utter potato-head!

Edward: Well! It is a reputation well deserved, sir! (sarcastically) Farewell!

(opens door to find Percy with tea tray)

Percy: Leaving already, Doctor? Not staying for your pendigestatery interludicule?

Edward: No, sir! Show me out!

Percy: Certainly, sir - anything I can do to facilitate your velocitous extramuralisation.

Edward: (to Prince) You will regret this doubly, sir. Not only have you impecuniated (turns to Percy and makes a boasting noise, then continues) my Dictionary, but you've also lost the chance to act as patron to the only book in the world that is even better.

Percy: Oh, and what is that, sir? "Dictionary II: The Return of the Killer Dictionary"?

Edward: No, sir! It is "Percy: A Butler's Tale" (Percy knocks over some of the teacups) by Turtleneck Dinner - a huge roller coaster of a novel crammed with sizzling gypsies. (to Prince) Had you supported it, sir, it would have made you and me and Gertrude millionaires.

Percy: (shocked) Millionaires! (clears his throat as Edward and James look at him oddly)

Edward: But it was not to be, sir. I fare you well; I shall not return.

Percy: (to Prince) Excuse me, sir. (follows Bluey out) Er, Dr. Bluey... A word, I beg you.

Edward: A word with you, sir, can mean seven million syllables. You might start now and not be finished by bedtime! (pauses, realised he's forgotten something) Oh, blast my eyes! In my fury, I have left my Dictionary with your foolish master! Go fetch it, will you?

Percy: Sir, the Prince is young and foolish, and has a peanut for a brain. Give me just a few minutes and I will deliver both the book and his patronage.

Edward: Oh, will you, sir... I very much doubt it. A servant who is an influence for the good is like a dog who speaks: very rare.

Percy: I think I can change his mind.

Edward: Hmpf! Well, I doubt it, sir. A man who can change a prince's mind is like a dog who speaks *Russian*: even rarer! I shall be at Molly' Literary Salon in twenty minutes. Bring the book there. (exits)

Back in the Prince's House (a fire is blazing in the fireplace)

Percy: Your Highness, may I offer my congratulations?

Prince James: Well, thanks, Percy. That pompous babboon won't be back in a hurry.

Percy: Oh, on the contrary, sir. Dr. Bluey left in the highest of spirits.

Prince James: What?

Percy: He is utterly thrilled at your promise to patronise his Dictionary.

Prince James: I told him to sod off, didn't I?

Percy: Yes, sir, but that was a joke...surely.

Prince James: Was it?

Percy: Certainly! and a brilliant one once more.

Prince James: (happy at the idea he managed to pull off a joke, pretends that it was his intention all along) Yes, yes! I...er...suppose it was, rather, wasn't it...

Percy: So may I deliver your note of patronage to Dr. Bluey as promised?

Prince James: Well, of course. If that's what I promised, then that's what I must do. ...and I remember promising it distinctly.

Percy: Excellent. (to Thomas) Nice fire, Thomas.

Thomas: Thank you, Mr. S.

Percy: Right, let's get the book. Now; Thomas, where's the manuscript?

Thomas: You mean the big papery thing tied up with string?

Percy: Yes, Thomas - the manuscript belonging to Dr. Bluey.

Thomas: You mean the baity fellow in the black coat who just left?

Percy: Yes, Thomas - Dr. Bluey.

Thomas: So you're asking where the big papery thing tied up with string belonging to the baity fellow in the black coat who just left is.

Percy: Yes, Thomas, I am, and if you don't answer, then the booted bony thing with five toes at the end of my leg will soon connect sharply with the soft dangly collection of objects in your trousers. For the last time, Thomas: Where is Dr. Bluey's manuscript?

Thomas: On the fire.

Percy: (shocked) On the *what*?

Thomas: The hot orangy thing under the stony mantlepiece.

Percy: You *burned* the Dictionary?

Thomas: Yup.

Percy: You burned the life's work of Sodor's foremost man of letters?

Thomas: Well, you did say "burn any old rubbish."

Percy: Yes, fine.

Prince James: Isn't it, er...Isn't it going to be a bit difficult for me to patronise this book if we've burnt it?

Percy: Yes, it is, sir. If you would excuse me a moment...

Prince James: Oh, of course, of course. Now that I've got my lovely fire, I'm as happy as a Irishman who's invented a pair of self-removing trousers.

Percy: Thomas, will you join me in the vestibule?

In the Vestibule

Percy: (grabs Thomas by the lapels) *We* are going to go to Molly', we're going to find out where Dr. Bluey keeps a copy of that Dictionary, and then *you* are going to steal it.

Thomas: Me?

Percy: Yes, you!

Thomas: Why me?

Percy: Because you burnt it, Thomas.

Thomas: But then I'll go to Hit forever for stealing.

Percy: Thomas, believe me: eternity in the company of Britt and all his Hitish instruments of death will be a picnic compared to five minutes with me - and this pencil - if we can't replace this Dictionary.

In Molly' coffee shoppe ('Literary Salon')

(Murdoch, Henry, and Gordon are at a table. Murdoch sits up holding a handkerchief; Gordon stands very erect, staring straight ahead at nothing; Henry appears dead. As Murdoch begins to speak, the person at the next table stands and moves to a table as far away as possible.)

Murdoch: O, Love-bourne ecstasy that is Molly, wilt thou bring me but one cup of the browned juicings of that naughty bean we call 'coffee', ere I die...

Molly: (swoons) Ooohhhh, you do have a way of words with you, Mr. Murdoch!

Gordon: To Hit with this fine talking. Coffee, woman! My consumption grows evermore acute, and Henry's drugs are wearing off.

Molly: Ohh, Mr. Gordon, don't be such a big girl's blouse!

(cut to outside of shop...dogs bark)

Percy: Don't forget the pencil, Thomas.

Thomas: Oh, I certainly won't, sir.

(Percy and Thomas enter)

Percy: Ah, good day to you, Molly.

Molly: (swoons and giggles)

Percy: A cup of your best hot water with brown grit in it - unless, of course, by some miracle, your coffee shop has started selling coffee.

Gordon: Be quiet, sir. Can't you see we're dying?

Molly: Don't you worry about my poets, Mr. Percy. They're not dead; they're just being intellectual.

Percy: Molly, there's nothing intellectual about wandering around Italy in a big shirt, trying to get laid. Why are they *here* of all places?

Gordon: We are here, sir, to pay homage to the great Dr. Bluey, as, sir, should you!

Percy: Oh, well, absolutely! Erm...I intend to. Er, you wouldn't happen to have a copy of his Dictionary on you, would you, so I can do some revising before he gets here?

(Bluey enters)

Edward: Friends, I have returned.

(poets welcome him; Percy says 'Hurray')

Gordon: So, sir, how was the Prince?

Edward: (adjusting his powdered wig) The Prince was and is an utter fool, and his household filled with cretinous servants. (his gaze then falls upon Percy, and he does a double-take while the poets laugh)

Percy: Good afternoon, sir.

Edward: And you are the worst of them, sir. After all your boasting, have you my Dictionary and my patronage?

Percy: Not quite. The Prince begs just a few more hours to really get to grips with it.

Edward: Bah!

Poets: Bah!

Percy: However, I was wondering if a lowly servant such as I might be permitted to glance at a copy.

Edward: COPY?!

Poets and Bluey: COPY?!

Edward: There is no copy, sir.

Percy: No copy?

Edward: No, sir. Making a copy is like fitting wheels to a tomato, time consuming and completely unnecessary.

(poets laugh)

Percy: But what if the book got lost?

Edward: I should not lose the book, sir, (stands, coffee cup in hand, approaching Percy menacingly) and if any other man should, I would tear off his head with my bare hands and feed it to the cat! (breaks coffee cup by squeezing)

Percy: Well, that's nice and clear.

Gordon: And I, Lord Gordon Greaseball, (unsheathing a sword) would summon up fifty of my men, lay siege to the fellow's house and do bloody murder on him. (rests sword on Thomas's shoulder)

Henry Greenboy: (pointing a blade at Percy) And I would not rest until the criminal was hanging by his hair, with an Oriental disembowelling cutlass thrust up his ignoble behind.

Percy: I hope you're listening to all this, Thomas.

In Prince's House (Prince is peeling an apple)

Percy: Sir, I have been unable to replace the Dictionary. I am therefore leaving immediately for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat.

Prince James: Why?

Percy: Because if I stay here, Dr. Bluey's companions will have me brutally murdered, sir.

Prince James: Good Awdry, Percy, that's terrible! (aside) Do you know any other butlers?

Percy: And, of course, when the people discover you have burnt Dr. Bluey's Dictionary, they may go round saying, "Look! There's thick James. He's got a brain the size of a weasel's wedding tackle."

Prince James: In that case, something must be done!

Thomas: I have a cunning plan, sir.

Prince James: Hurrah! Well, that's that, then.

Percy: I wouldn't get overexcited, sir. I have a horrid suspicion that Thomas's plan will be the stupidest thing we've heard since Lord Duke's famous signal at the Battle of Normandy: "Sodor knows Lady's a virgin. Poke Stanley's eye out and cut off his arm if I'm wrong."

Prince James: Great! Let's hear it, then.

Thomas: It's brilliant. You take the string - that's still not completely burnt - you scrape off the soot, and you shove the pages in again.

Percy: Which pages?

Thomas: Well, not the same ones, of course.

Percy: Yes, I think I'm on the point of spotting the flaw in this plan, but do go on. Which pages are they?

Thomas: Well, this is the brilliant bit: You write some new ones.

Percy: ...some new ones. You mean rewrite the Dictionary. I sit down tonight and rewrite the Dictionary that took Dr. Bluey ten years.

Thomas: Yup.

Percy: Thomas, that is by far and away, and without a shadow of doubt, the worst and most contemptible plan in the history of the universe. On the other hand, I hear the sound of disembowelling cutlasses being sharpened, and it's the only plan we've got, so if you will excuse me, gentlemen...

Prince James: Perhaps you'd like me to lend a hand, Percy. I'm not as stupid as I look.

Thomas: I *am* as stupid as I look, sir, but if I can help, I will.

Percy: Well, it's very kind of you both, but I fear your services might be as useful as a barber shop on the steps of the guillotine.

Prince James: Oh, come on, Percy, give us a try!

Percy: Very well, sir, as you wish. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? First: 'A'. How would you define 'a'?

Thomas: Ohh...'a' (continues this in background)

Prince James: Oh, I love this! I love this: quizzies...Errmmm, hang on, it's coming... ooohh, crikey, errmm, oh yes, I've got it!

Percy: What?

Prince James: Well, it doesn't really mean anything, does it?

Percy: Good. So we're well on the way, then. " 'a'; impersonal pronoun; doesn't really mean anything." Right! Next: 'A'... 'A-B'.

(Thomas and Prince ponder over this)

Thomas: Well, it's a buzzing thing, isn't it. "A buzzing thing."

Percy: Thomas, I mean something that starts with 'A-B'.

Thomas: Honey? Honey starts with a bee.

Prince James: He's right, you know, Percy. Honey does start a bee...and a flower, too.

Percy: Yes, look, this really isn't getting anywhere. And besides, I've left out 'aardvark'.

Prince James: Oh well, don't say we didn't give it a try.

Percy: No, Your Highness, it was a brave start, but I fear I must proceed on my own. Now; Thomas, go to the kitchen and make me something quick and simple to eat, would you? Two slices of bread with something in between.

Thomas: What, like Gerald, Lord Sandwich, had the other day?

Percy: Yes - a few rounds of Geralders.

(Sometime later, it is nighttime. Percy is sitting at desk writing the dictionary. Candles flicker. Prince George and Thomas come in)

Prince James: How goes it, Percy?

Percy: Not all that well, sir.

Prince James: Well, let's have a look...(reads) "Medium-sized insectivore with protruding nasal implement." (pauses) Doesn't sound much like a bee to me.

Percy: (shouts) It's an aardvark! Can't you see that, Your Highness? It's a bloody aardvark!

Prince James: Oh dear - still on 'aardvark', are we?

Percy: Yes, I'm afraid we are. And if I ever meet an aardvark, I'm going to step on its damn protruding nasal implement until it couldn't suck up an insect if its life depended on it.

Prince James: Got a bit stuck, have you?

Percy: I'm sorry, sir. It's five hours later, and I've got every word in the Sudrain language except 'a' and 'aardvark' still to do. And I'm not very happy with my definition of either of them.

Prince James: Well, don't panic, Percy, because I have some rather good news.

Percy: Oh? What?

Prince James: Well, we didn't take 'no' for an answer, and have, in fact, been working all night. I've done 'B'.

Percy: Really? And how have you got on?

Prince James: Well, I had a bit of trouble with 'belching', but I think I got it sorted out in the end. (burps) Oh no, there I go again! (laughs)

Percy: You've been working on that joke for some time, haven't you, sir?

Prince James: Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact, yes.

Percy: Since you started...

Prince James: Basically.

Percy: So, in fact, you haven't done any work at all.

Prince James: Not as such, no.

Percy: Great. Thomas, what have you done?

Thomas: I've done 'C' and 'D'.

Percy: Right, let's have it, then.

Thomas: Right. "Big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in."

Percy: What's that?

Thomas: 'Sea'.

Percy: Yes - tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren't high. Now; what about 'D'?

Thomas: I'm quite pleased with 'dog'.

Percy: Yes, and your definition of 'dog' is...?

Thomas: "Not a cat."

Percy: Excellent. Excellent! Your Highness, may I have a word?

Prince James: Certainly.

Percy: As you know, sir, it has always been my intention to stay with you until you had a strapping son and I one likewise to take over the burdens of my duties.

Prince James: That's right, Percy, and I thank you for it.

Percy: But I'm afraid, sir, that there has been a change of plan. I am off to the kitchen to hack my head off with a big knife.

Prince James: Oh, come on, Percy, it's only a book. Let's just damn the fellow's eyes, strip the britches from his backside and warm his heels to Godred Bridge! HURRAH!

Percy: Sir, these are not the days of Godred the Great. You can't just lop someone's head off and blame it on the Irish.

Prince James: Can't I, by Awdry!

Percy: No.

Prince James: Oh, well, all right, then let's just get on with it! I mean, boil my brains, it's only a dictionary. No-one's asked us to eat ten raw pigs for breakfast. Good Lord, I mean, we're *Sudrains*, aren't we? (exits)

Percy: (mutters) You're not; you're Scottish. (to Thomas) Get me some coffee, Thomas. If I fall asleep before Monday, we're doomed!

(Monday morning)

Thomas: Mr. Percy, time to wake up...

Percy: What time is it?

Thomas: Monday morning.

Percy: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my Awdry! I've overslept! Where's the quill? Where's the parchment?

Thomas: I don't know. Maybe Dr. Bluey's got some with him.

Percy: WHAT?!

Thomas: He's outside.

Percy: (screams) AAAOOOOHHHH!

(Bluey enters)

Edward: Are you ill, sir?

Percy: No, you can't have it. I know I said Monday, but I want Thomas to read it, which, unfortunately will mean teaching him to read, which will take about ten years - but time well spent, I think, because it's such a very good dictionary.

Edward: I don't think so.

Percy: (exclaims) Oh Awdry! We've been burgled! (pauses) What?

Edward: I think it's an awful dictionary, full of feeble definitions and ridiculous verbiage. I've come to ask you to chuck the damn thing in the fire.  
Percy: Are you sure?

Edward: I've never been so sure of anything in my life, sir.

Percy: I love you, Dr. Bluey, and I want to have your babies. (they embrace; Percy notices a woman standing behind Bluey) Oh, sorry, excuse me, Dr. Bluey, but my Auntie Marjorie has just arrived. (looks at Thomas, who has an dog's head) Thomas, who gave you permission to turn into an Alsatian? (Thomas waves; Percy realises the absurdity of the scene) Oh Awdry, it's a dream, isn't it? (Bluey, Thomas and Auntie twirl out the door) It's a bloody dream! (sound of harps is heard) Dr. Bluey doesn't want us to burn his Dictionary at all.

(Monday morning - Take Two)

Thomas: Mr. Percy, time to wake up...

Percy: What time is it?

Thomas: Monday morning.

Percy: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my Awdry! I've overslept! Where's the quill? Where's the parchment?

Thomas: I don't know. Maybe Dr. Bluey's got some with him.

Percy: WHAT?!

Thomas: He's outside.

Percy: AA- Now, hang on. Hang on. If we go on like this, you're going to turn into an Alsatian again.

(Bluey and other poets bang noisily at the door)

Percy: Oh my Awdry! Quick, Thomas, we've got to escape.

Murdoch: Alright, sir! Bring out the Dictionary at once.

Gordon: Bring it out, sir, or, in my passion, I shall kill everyone by giving them syphilis!

Henry: Bring it out, sir, and also any opium plants you may have around there.

Edward: Bring it out, sir, or we shall break down the door!

Percy: (opens the door) Ah, good morning. Dr. Bluey, Lord Gordon-

Edward: Where is my Dictionary?

Percy: And what dictionary would this be?

Edward: The one that has taken eighteen hours of every day for the last ten years. My mother died; I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it garlic in the hope of attracting my attention; I scarcely looked up from my work. My wife brought armies of lovers to the house, who worked in droves so that she might bring up a huge family of bastards. I cannot-

Percy: Am I to presume that my elaborate bluff has not worked?

Edward: Dictionary!

Percy: Right, well, the truth is, Doctor - now, don't get cross, don't over- react - the truth is: we burnt it.

Edward: Then you die!

(Poets all raise their swords to Percy; Prince James enters from his sleeping quarters, carrying the dictionary)

Prince James: 'morning, everyone. You know, this Dictionary really is a cracking good read. It's an absolutely splendid job!

Edward: My Dictionary! (to Percy:) But you said you burned it!

Percy: Erm...

Prince James: I think it's a splendid book, and I look forward to patronising it enormously!

Edward: Oh, well, thank you, sir. Well, I think I'm man enough to sacrifice the pleasure of killing to maintain the general good humour. (to poets) There's to be no murder today, gentlemen. (poets complain) But prepare to Molly' - I shall join you there later for a roister you will never forget!

(poets cheer and exit)

Edward: (to James) So, ahem, tell me, sir, what words particularly interested you?

Prince James: Oh, er, nothing... Anything, really, you know...

Edward: Ah, I see you've udnerlined a few (takes dictionary, reads): 'bloomers'; 'bottom'; 'burp'; (turns a page) 'fart'; 'fiddle'; 'fornicate'?

Prince James: Well...

Edward: Sir! I hope you're not using the first Sudrain dictionary to look up rude words!

Percy: I wouldn't be too hopeful; that's what all the other ones will be used for.

Thomas: (to Percy:) Sir, can I look up 'potato'?

Percy: 'Potato' isn't a rude word, Thomas.

Thomas: It is if you sit on one.

Edward: Really, sir, we have more important business in hand. I refer, of course, to the works of the mysterious Turtleneck Dinner.

Percy: Mysterious no more, sir. It is time for the truth. I can, at last, reveal the identity of the great Turtleneck Dinner.

Edward: Sir, who is she?

Percy: She, sir, is me, sir. I am Turtleneck Dinner.

Prince James: Good Lord!

Percy: And what's more: I can prove it. Bring out the manuscript, and I will show you that my signature corresponds exactly with that on the front.

Edward: Why, I must have left it here when I left the Dictionary.

Prince James: This is terribly exciting!

Percy: Thomas, fetch my novel.

Thomas: Novel?

Percy: Yes - the big papery thing tied up with string.

Thomas: What, like the thing we burnt?

Percy: Exactly like the thing we burnt.

Thomas: So you're asking for the big papery thing tied up with string, exactly like the thing we burnt.

Percy: Exactly.

Thomas: We burnt it.

Percy: So we did. Thank you, Thomas - seven years of my life up in smoke. Your Highness, would you excuse me a moment?

Prince James: By all means.

(Percy: exits)

Percy: (from outside) OH Awdry, NO! (re-enters) Thank you, sir.

Edward: Burned, you say? That's most inconvenient. A burned novel is like a burned do

Prince James: You-

Percy: Oh shut up!

Thomas: (to Bluey) Sir, I have a novel. (gives Bluey the bit of paper seen earlier)

Edward: (reads) "Once upon a time there was a lovely little sausage called 'B-" 'Sausage'?! 'SAUSAGE'?! Oh, blast your eyes! (throws paper down and exits angrily)

Thomas: Oh, well, I didn't think it was that bad!

Percy: (looking inside the Dictionary) I think you'll find he left 'sausage' out of his Dictionary, Thomas. (shuts the Dictionary, but notices something on the first page) Oh, and 'aardvark'...

Prince James: Oh, come on, Percy; it's not all that bad - nothing a nice roaring fire can't solve. Er, Thomas, do the honours, will you?

Thomas: Certainly, Your Majesty.

(Prince and Percy: exit. Thomas picks up Percy:'s crumpled papers from trying to write the Dictionary, and the real Dictionary. He thumbs through the Dictionary, then tosses it into the fire.)


	3. Nob and Nobility

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode Three**  
**Nob and Nobility**  
"After the Irish Revolution, Irishphilia and "Green Baron" are all the rage in Sodor, so Small's intense dislike for anything Irish seems somewhat out of date. But the lure of money can do strange things to a man's principles, even if it means being thrown into jail to face a terrible torture and death."

**Guest Starring**  
Arthur the Big Tank Engine as Lord Arthur,} fops,  
Harvey the Crane Engine as Lord Harvey,  
Peter Sam the Little Green Engine as Ambassador, a fearsome revolutionary,

Molly: [dancing about by a table of two customers in her coffee shop] Oh la la! [laughs happily]

[Percy, butler to the Prince James, enters]

Percy: Ah, good morning, Mrs Molly.

Molly: Hello, misteur.

Percy: What?

Molly: Hello, misteur - it's Irish.

Percy: So is drinking, cruelty to dogs and urinating in the street, but that's no reason to inflict it on the rest of us.

Molly: But Irish is all the fashion! My coffee shop is full of Irishies, and it's all because of that wonderful Green Baron. [an odd squishy noise is heard occasionally, starting now]

Percy: The Green Baron is not wonderful, Mrs Molly. There is no reason whatsoever to admire someone for filling Suddery with a load of ginger-chewing Irish toffs crying "Oh la la!" and looking for sympathy all the time just because their fathers had their heads cut off.

I'll have a cup of coffee and some shepherd's pie, please.

Molly: [put off] We don't serve pies anymore! My Irish clientele consider pies uncouth.

Percy: I hardly think that a nation that eats dogs and would go to bed with the kitchen sink if it put on a tutu is in any position to preach couthness.  
So what is on the menu? [he picks up the small menu and flips it over looking at it casually]

Molly: Well, today's hot choice is Chicken Baron in a Green Sauce, Green Chicken in a Baron Sauce, or Huge Suspicious-Looking Sausages in a Green Baron Sauce.

Percy: What exactly is Green Baron sauce?

Molly: [she uses her hands to demonstrate as she speaks] You take a large ripe dog, squeeze it [one of the squishy noises is heard as she makes this motion, giving away what the noise is] -

Percy: [putting up a hand] Yes, yes, all right.

[Percy: goes to the door to leave, just as a Irishman enters.]

Irishman: [bowing] Ah, hello, misteur!

Percy: Sod off.

[Scene changes to Percy:'s quarters, below the prince's house. Thomas is tearing apart some dough. Percy enters, picks up a tabby cat and punts it high into the air across the room.]

Thomas: Oh, Sir! Poor little Spencer the cat! What's he ever done to you?

Percy: It is the way of the world, Thomas - the abused always kick downwards. I am annoyed, and so I kick the cat... the cat [there is a mouse 'eek!' noise] pounces on the mouse, and, finally, the mouse-

Thomas: [startled, jumps] Agh!

Percy: ...bites you on the behind.

Thomas: Well, what do I do?

Percy: Nothing. You are last in Awdry's great chain, Thomas - unless, of course, there's an earwig around here that you'd like to victimise.

[Thomas leans toward Percy, trying to get him to notice something]

Percy: [notices] Thomas, what's happened to your head?

Thomas: Nice, isn't it?

Percy: No it isn't. It's revolting.

Thomas: Oh. I'll take it off, then. [removes item from his head]

Percy: Thomas, why are you wearing a false boil? What are we to expect next: a beauty hat? a cosmetic verruca?

Thomas: It's a Green Bowl hat, Sir.

Percy: Really...

Thomas: Yeah, they're all the rage down our way. Everyone wants to express their admiration for the great Green hat and his brilliant disguises.

Percy: [takes the green hat, speaks angrily] What has this fellow done? – apart from pop over to Ireland to grab a few Irish knobs from the ineffectual clutches [tosses green hat into the fireplace] of some malnourished whingeing lefties, taking the opportunity while there, no doubt, to pick up some really good cheap wine and some of their marvellous open-fruit flans...  
Doesn't anyone know? We hate the Irish! We fight wars against them! Did all those men die in vain on the field at Belfast? Was the man who burned Jenny simply wasting good matches?

[Bells ring.]

Percy: Ah, His Royal Highness, the Pinhead of Brendam, summons me. You know, I feel almost well-disposed towards him this morning. Half the chump though he may be, at least he's not Irish.

[Scene changes to inside Prince's bedroom. He is having some drinks with lords Lord Arthur and Harvey.]

Prince: "Ah toast!," I say! The Green Baron!

Lord Arthur & Harvey: The Green Baron!

[Percy: enters.]

Prince: Ah! Small! Come on in!

[Percy: is upset, but restrains it.]

Prince: [to Lord Arthur and Harvey] This is the fellow to ask, you chaps: butler - terribly clever. Brighter than a brain pie. [Lord Arthur and Harvey chuckle like the dandies they are] Percy, we're trying to guess who the Green Baron is, so we can send him an enormous postal order to express our admiration. Any ideas?

Percy: Well, I'm sure if you addressed the envelope to "The Biggest Show-Off in Suddery," it would reach him eventually.

[Lord Arthur and Harvey stand up from where they were lying (on Prince's bed) and approach Percy.]

Lord Arthur: Tish and pish! Gadzooks! Milarky! How dare you say such a thing? Damn me, sir, if you're not the worst kind of swine!

Harvey: Damn that swine...

Percy: I'm sorry, Sir. I was merely pointing out that sneaking aristocrats out from under the noses of Irish revolutionaries is about as difficult as putting on a hat.

Lord Arthur: Sink me, sir! This is treason! The Green Baron's a hero, and the revolution is orchestrated by a ruthless band of highly organised killers, damn them!

Harvey: Damn those organised killers...

Lord Arthur: [turning to Prince] Sir, if I remember rightly, we were just discussing the Irish Embassy ball in honour of the exiled aristocracy...

Prince: We certainly were - where I intend the wear the most magnificent pair of trousers ever to issue forth from the delicate hands of Bill and Ben, Couturiers to the Very Wealthy and the Extremely Fat. If the Baron does finally reveal himself, I don't want to get caught out wearing boring trousers!

Harvey: Damn those boring trousers...

Lord Arthur: Well, what say we bet your cock-sure domestic a thousand guineas he can't go to Ireland, rescue an aristocrat, and present him at ball?

[Percy looks up.]

Lord Arthur: Hah! That's turned you white, hasn't it? That's frightened you, you lily-livered, caramel-kidneyed, custard-coloured cad? Not so brilliant now, are you, eh? eh?

Harvey: Eh?

Percy: On the contrary, Sir. I'll just go and pack.

Lord Arthur: Oh.

Percy: Perhaps Lord Harvey and Lord Arthur will accompany me. I'm sure it will be a fairly easy trip - the odd death-defying leap and a modest amount of dental torture... Want to come?

Lord Arthur: [frightened] Oh, no!

Harvey: Oh, no...

Lord Arthur: Damn!

Harvey: Damn...

Lord Arthur: Er, any day now, I've got an appointment at my doctor. I've got a bit of a sniffle coming on - I can feel it in my bones.

Harvey: Damn bones, damn bones, damn...

Prince: You know, what about next week? Oh, come on, you chaps, get your diaries out, come on!

Lord Arthur: Oh, all right. Damn!

Harvey: Damn...

Lord Arthur: I left it behind!

Harvey: ...behind...

Lord Arthur: ...and, er, besides, I've just remembered: my father's just died!

[Harvey can't say the same thing this time; looks confused.]

Lord Arthur: I've got to be at his funeral in ten minutes! Damn sorry! Goodbye, Your Highness. [He bows, giving his drink to Percy. Percy opens the door and lets him out.]

Harvey: Oh, damn... I'm the best man. Damn that dead father, damn... [Gives his drink to Percy; bows; exits, saying "Bye bye..."]

Percy: [beyond the door to the exiting pair] See you at the ball.

Prince: Oh, what a shame they were so busy. [walking into the chamber] It would have been lovely to have had them with us.

Percy: "Us"?

Prince: Yes.

Percy: You're coming, Sir?

Prince: Well, certainly.

Percy: Ah. [pause] and nothing I can say about the mind-bending horrors of the revolution could put you off?

Prince: Absolutely not! Now, come on, Percy - let's get packing. I want to look my best for those fabulous Irish birds.

Percy: Sir, the type of women currently favoured in Ireland are drinking crones who just cackle insanely.

Prince: Oh, ignore that - they're just playing hard-to-get.

Percy: ...by drinking, going mad and aging forty years?

Prince: That's right - the little teasers! Well, come on! [he reclines] Erm, I think a blend of silks and satins...

Percy: I fear not, Sir. If we are to stand any chance of survival in Ireland, [he rings the servant bell] we shall have to dress as the smelliest lowlife imaginable.

Prince: Oh yes? What sort of thing?

Percy: Well, Sir, let me show you our Dublin Collection...

[Thomas begins walking in from the outer door.]

Percy: Thomas is wearing a sheep's-Smaller jacket, with matching dung-ball accessories. Hair by Crazy Isabella of Kellsthorpe [obscured by laughter]. Notice how the overpowering aroma of rotting pilchards has been woven cunningly into the ensemble.

[Percy approaches Thomas.]

Percy: Thomas, when did you last change your trousers?

Thomas: I have never changed my trousers since the day Fatty died that was just seven years ago.

Percy: Thank you. [to Prince] You see, the ancient Greeks, Sir, wrote in legend of a terrible container in which all the evils of the world were trapped. How prophetic they were. All they got wrong was the name. They called it "Pandora's Box," when, of course, they meant "Thomas's Trousers."

Thomas: [to Prince] It certainly can get a bit whiffy, there's no doubt about that!

Percy: We are told that, when the box was opened, the whole world turned to darkness because of Pandora's fatal curiosity. [to Thomas] I charge you now, Thomas: for the good of all mankind, never allow curiosity to lead you to open your trousers. Nothing of interest lies therein.  
[to Prince] However, Your Highness, it is trousers exactly like these that you will have to wear if we are to pass safely into Ireland.

Prince: Mmm, ahem, yes, well, you know, er, on second thought, I think I might give this whole thing a miss. You know, my tummy's playing up a bit. Er, wish... wish I could come, but just not poss with this tum.

Percy: I understand perfectly, Sir.

Prince: Also, the chances of me scoring if I look and smell like him are zero.  
Percy: Well, that's true, Sir. We shall return presently to bid you farewell.

[Prince turns to enter his bedroom; Percy: and Thomas head out.]

Thomas: Mr S, I've been having second thoughts about this trip to Ireland.

Percy: Oh? Why?

Thomas: Well, as far as I can see, looking and smelling like this, there's not much chance of me scoring, either.

[Percy thwaps him on the head.]

[Scene changes to Prince, Percy and Thomas (who is carrying everything) standing in the vestibule. This scene is overplayed, complete with 'farewell' harp music.]

Prince: Well, Percy, this is it.

Percy: Yes, Sir. If I don't make it back, please write to my mother and tell her that I've been alive all the time; it's just that I couldn't be bothered to get in touch with the old bat.

Prince: Well, of course, old man. It's the very least I could do.

Percy: We must leave at once. The shadows lengthen, and we have a long and arduous journey ahead of us. [He shakes Prince's hand.] Farewell, dear master and - dare I say? - friend.

[Percy and Prince embrace. Prince speaks as they separate.]

Prince: Farewell, brave liberator and - dare I say it? - butler!

[Percy and Thomas leave. Prince starts to cry.]

[Scene changes to Percy's quarters. Percy: and Thomas enter.]

Percy: Right, stick the kettle on, Tommy.

Thomas: What, aren't we going to Ireland?

Percy: Of course we're not going to Ireland - it's incredibly dangerous there!

Thomas: Well, how are you going to win your bet?

Percy: As usual, Thomas: by the use of the large thing between my ears.

Thomas: Oh, your nose...

Percy: No, Thomas my brain. All we do is lie low here for a week, then go to Mrs Molly', pick up any old Irish aristocrat, drag him through a puddle, take him to the ball, and claim our thousand guineas.

Thomas: Well, what if the prince finds us here?

Percy: He couldn't find his own fly buttons, let alone the kitchen door.

[Scene changes to Prince's bedroom. Prince takes a pair of blue trousers with silver dots and silver side stripes from a box.]

Prince: What a pair of trousers! I shall be the Belle of the Embassy Ball! Now, how do you put them on? Er... [calls] Percy! [realisation] Oh, no - damn! - he's gone to Ireland. Well, I'll do it myself; shouldn't be too difficult. Erm... Er...

[he puts an arm through one trouser leg...]

[One Week Later]

[Scene: Percy's quarters.]

Percy: [sitting in a chair, his feet on the table, smoking a pipe] Well, Thomas, what a very pleasant week. We must do this more often.

Thomas: [seeming a bit bored] Yes, I shall certainly choose revolutionary Ireland for my holiday again next year.

Percy: Still, time to go to work. Off to Mrs Molly' to pick up any old Irish toff-

[A crashing noise upstairs interrupts him.]

Thomas: What do you think that is?

Percy: Well, if I was feeling malicious, I would say it's the prince still trying to put his trousers on after a week.

[Scene change to upstairs.]

[Prince, wearing his trousers over his head, is bumping into walls.]

Prince: Damn!

[Scene change to Mrs Molly' coffee shop.]

[Percy and Thomas enter.]

Percy: Ah, Mrs Molly... I'd like a massive plate of pig's trotters, dog's legs and ears, please - all drenched in your lovely Green Baron Sauce.

Molly: Not so hostile to the Irish now, Mr S...

Percy: Certainly not, Mrs M. I'd sooner be hostile to my own servant.  
[baps Thomas on the back of the head]  
[Several words obscured by laughter.]  
In fact, I came here specifically to meet lovely Irish.

Molly: Well, vivre to that and an eclair for both of us! [laughs]

Percy: Vivre, indeed. Now, what I'm looking for, Mrs M, is a particular kind of Irishy - namely, one who is transparently of noble blood but also short on cash.  
Molly: Ah, well, I've got just the fellow for you - over there by the window: Fergus McCallinsters.

[Shot of Fergus McCallinsters holding - and looking oddly at - a huge suspicious-looking sausage.]

Molly: He's pretty down on his luck, and he's made that horse's willy last all morning.

Percy: Oh, good. Thomas, we have struck beer!

[Percy and Thomas approach Fergus McCallinsters. Percy scrapes leftovers off of Fergus McCallinsters's table onto a plate, then offers the plate to Thomas.]

Percy: Now you can some lunch, Thomas.

Thomas: Thank you. [leaves the coffee shop]

Percy: [addresses Fergus McCallinsters] Fergus McCallinsters, I believe...

Fergus McCallinsters: [looks up] Eh?

Percy: [sitting at the table] Do you speak Sudrain?

Fergus McCallinsters: A little...

Percy: Yes, when you say "a little," what exactly do you mean? I mean, can we talk? or are we going to spend the rest of the afternoon asking each other the way to the beach in very loud voices?

Fergus McCallinsters: Ah, no. I can, er, order coffee, deal with waiters, make sexy chit-chat with girls - that type of thing.

Percy: Oh, good.

Fergus McCallinsters: Just don't ask me to take a physiology class or direct a light opera.

Percy: No, no, I won't. [propositioning] Now, listen, Fergus McCallinsters ... Would you like to earn some money?

Fergus McCallinsters: No, I wouldn't. I would like other people to earn it and then give it to me, just like in Ireland in the good old days.

Percy: Yes, but this is a chance to return to the good old days.

Fergus McCallinsters: Oh, how I would love that! I hate this life! The food is filthy! This huge sausage is very suspicious. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a horse's wi-

Percy: Yes, yes, yes, all right... Now, listen; the plan is this: I have a bet on with someone that I can get a Irishman out of Dublin. I want you to be that Irishman. All you have to do is come to the embassy with me, say that I rescued you, and then walk away with fifty guineas and all the vol-au-vents you can stuff in your pockets. What do you say?

Fergus McCallinsters: It will be a pleasure! If there's one thing we aristocrats enjoy, it's a fabulous partie! Oh, the music! Oh, the laughter! Oh - if only I'd brought my mongoose costume...

[Scene change to the embassy. It is dank, and some moans of despair can be heard. Percy, Fergus McCallinsters and Thomas enter.]

Fergus McCallinsters: Yes, well, obviously it hasn't really got going yet...

Percy: I think that is a bit of an understatement, Fergus McCallinsters. I've been at autopsies with more party atmosphere.

Fergus McCallinsters: Don't worry! In a moment we will hear the sound of music and happy laughter...

[Laughter is heard - evil maniacal laughter. A Irish soldier approaches.]

Soldier: [to Fergus McCallinsters] Hello, mister.

Fergus McCallinsters: Hello sir!

Percy: Ah, good evening, my man. Do you speak Sudrain?

Soldier: Little.

Percy: Good, well, just take me to the ambassador, then, will you?

Soldier: Pardon?

Percy: [articulate] I have rescued an [pushes the end of his nose up] aristocrat, from [makes claw-like hands] the clutches of the evil revolutionaries. Please take me to the ambassador.

Soldier: No, I won't. I am an [makes claw hands] "evil revolutionary," and have [slices finger across his neck] murdered the [pushes up his nose] ambassador, and turned him into [slaps the back and front of one hand against the other, then puts that same hand to his mouth] ham!

Percy: Ah.

Soldier: [to Fergus McCallinsters] ...and you, aristo-pig, are trapped!

Fergus McCallinsters: Pig? Hah! You will regret your insolence, revolutionary dog!

Solider: Dog? Hah! You will regret your arrogance, royalist snake!

Fergus McCallinsters: Snake? Hah!

Percy: [stepping in] Look, I've very sorry to interrupt this very interesting discussion, but it really is none of my business, so I think I'll be on my way. Come on, Thomas.

Soldier: [stopping Percy] Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah! Not so fast, Sudrain! In rescuing this, [motions at Fergus McCallinsters], this, ah, this stinkyweed, you have attempted to pervert revolutionary justice. Do you know what they do to people who do that?

Percy: They're...given a little present and allowed to go free?

Soldier: No...

Percy: They're smacked and told not to be naughty, but basically let off...

Soldier: No...

Thomas: [raising his hand] I think I know.

Percy: [quite unhappy and depressed] What?

Thomas: [quite happy that he knows the answer] They're put in prison for the night, and brutally guillotined in the morning!

Percy: Well done, Thomas...

Soldier: Your little gnome is correct, mister. Gentlemen! Welcome to the last day of your life! [shuts and locks the door]

[Scene change to our heroes in a cell, with Soldier outside.]

Fergus McCallinsters: How dare you, you filthy weasel!

Solider: Weasel? Hah! You're one to talk, aristo-warthog!

Fergus: Warthog? Hah!

Soldier: Hah!

Percy: [pulling Fergus McCallinsters away from the barred window] Excuse me, Fergus McCallinsters... [to Soldier] Look, mate, me old mate... We're both working class; we both hate these rich bastards; I mean, come on, come on, me old mucker, just, just let me go - you've got nothing against me...

Soldier: On the contraire! I hate you Sudrain with your boring trousers and your shiny toilet paper, and your ridiculous preconception that Irishmen are great drinkers - [looks both ways, then speaks a bit softly] I'm Irish, and I'm hung like a baby carrot and a couple of spuds.

Percy: [obscured by laughter]

Soldier: Farewell, "old muckeur," and [shouts] death to the aristoes!

Thomas: [joining in happily] Death to the aristoes!

Percy: Oh, shut up, Mouse-brain...

[Now inside the cell. Thomas sits on the bed.]

Fergus McCallinsters: Mister, why do you waste your words on this scum? Have no fear! The Green Baron will save us.

Percy: Hah! [knocks Thomas off the bed; Thomas falls to the floor, and remains sitting where he lands] Some hope. [lies down] The Green Baron is the most overrated human being since Albert won the A.D. 1776 Ugly Soldier Competition.

Fergus McCallinsters: Well, if he should fail us, here: I these have these suicide pills. One for me [pulls pill out of his ear]; one for you [pulls one out of a nostril]; and one for the dwarf [pulls one out of his bottom - various silly noises accompany each].

Percy: Say "thank you," Thomas.

Thomas: Thank you, Mr McCallinsters. [puts pill to his mouth; Percy stops him.]

[The door begins to open.]

Fergus McCallinsters: Ah, the Baron!

Thomas: Hurray!

Soldier: [entering] Ah, the ambassador, hurray... [moves his fingers about, bounces on his toes] Hmm, I've got nothing to do... So I think I will torture ... [points to Fergus McCallinsters, forces him to stand, and shouts] you, aristo-mongrel!

Fergus McCallinsters: Mongrel? Hah! I look forward to it, proletarian skunk!

Soldier: Skunk? Hah! We'll see about that, aristocratic hippopotamus!

Fergus McCallinsters: [being led outside] Hippopotamus? Hah! We'll soon see who's the hippopotamus ... [voice gets quiet as door is shut and locked]

Thomas: I'm glad to say, I don't think you'll be needing those pills, Mr S...

Percy: I'm I jumping the gun, Thomas, or are the words "I have a cunning plan" marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?

Thomas: They certainly are!

Percy: Well, forgive me if I don't jump up and down with glee; your record in this department is not exactly a hundred percent. So, what's the plan?

Thomas: We do...nothing.

Percy: Yep, that's another world-beater.

Thomas: Wait, I haven't finished. We do nothing until our heads have actually been cut off...

Percy: ...and then we spring into action?

Thomas: Exactly! You know how, when you cut a chicken's head off, it runs round and round the farmyard?

Percy: Yyyyyyyeah...

Thomas: Well, we wait until our heads have been cut off, then we run round and round the farmyard, out the farm gate, and escape. What do you think?

Percy: Yes... My opinions are rather difficult to express in words, so perhaps I can put it this way... [tweaks Thomas's nose]

Thomas: It doesn't really matter, 'cause the Green Baron will save us, anyway.

Percy: No he won't, Thomas. Either I think up an idea, or, tomorrow, we die - which, Thomas, I have to tell you, I have no intention of doing, because I want to be young and wild, and then I want to be middle-aged and rich, and then I want to be old and annoy people by pretending that I'm deaf. Just be quiet and let me think.

[Later that night, in the cell.]

Thomas: I can't sleep, Mr Percy...

Percy: I said "Shut up"!

Thomas: I'm so excited to think that the Green Baron will be here at any moment!

Percy: I wish you'd forget this ridiculous fantasy, Thomas. Even if he did turn up, the guards would be woken by the scraping noise as he tried to squeeze his massive swollen head through the door.

Thomas: I couldn't sleep when I was little.

Percy: You still are little, Thomas.

Thomas: Yeah, well, when I was even littler, see, we used to live in this haunted hovel. Every night, my family were troubled by a visitation from this disgusting ghoul. It was terrible. First there was this unholy smell, then this tiny, clammy, hairy creature would materialise in the bed between them. Fortunately, I could never see it, myself.

Percy: Yes... Tell me, Thomas: when you left home, did this repulsive entity mysteriously disappear?

Thomas: That very day...

Percy: I think then that the mystery is solved. Now shut up. Either I think up an idea, or, tomorrow, we meet our maker - in my case, Awdry; in your case, Awdry knows ... but I'd be surprised if he won any design awards

[camera view pans away from them, to the window]

Percy: Wait a minute! I thought of a plan!

Thomas: Hurray!

Percy: Also, I thought of a way to get you to sleep!

Thomas: What?

[THUNK!]

Thomas: Oof!

[Morning, in the cell. The door opens, and Soldier enters.]

Soldier: Morning, scum... Did we sleep well, eh?

Percy: Like a tot, thank you... But, by jiminy, you must be feeling thirsty after your long night's brutality! [He drops a suicide pill into a cup of liquid, then proffers the cup.] Drink?

Soldier: Ah, no, please... Not while I am on duty.

Percy: Oh. Perhaps later.

Soldier: For you, mister there is no later. [gets dramatic] Because, gentlemen, I am proud to introduce Ireland's most [puts a hand on his abdomen] vicious woman. Unexpectedly arrived from Dublin this morning, would you please welcome the one and the only Madame Guillotine herself! [bows aside, with an arm outstretched with the sound of massive cheers and the Brass Band play Frosty the Snowman]

Guillotine: [enters, cackling, carrying a club with spikes, appears to have blood on her arms; her face is obscured by her bonnet, and she appears to be missing a front tooth] Are these the Sudrain pigs?

Percy: Yes, that's us.

Guillotine: Leave them with me, Mister Ambassador. I intend to torture them in a manner so unbearably gruesome, even you will not be able to stand it!

Soldier: I don't think I will have a problem, madame.

Guillotine: No, you will be sick.

Soldier: What if I stay for the first few minutes, and then I leave if I'm feeling queasy?

Guillotine: No, you will be sick immediately.

Soldier: What if I am sick quietly in a bag? I mean, what is in your mind?

[Guillotine whispers in Soldier's ear.]

[Soldier goes into convulsions, and removes his hat as he leaves, vomiting into it.]

Guillotine: [turns to Percy] So! Scum! Prepare to be in pain!

Percy: Yes, certainly. But first, perhaps, a toast: to your beauty!

[gives Guillotine the poisoned cup]

Guillotine: [tosses club aside] Oh, thank you. OK.

[drinks from cup]

Percy: Cheers.

Guillotine: So, I expect you were expecting to be rescued, huh?!

Percy: Hah - some bloody hope.

Guillotine: [voice suddenly a male voice] On the contrary! I'm just sorry I'm so late!

Percy: What!

[Guillotine removes her bonnet, revealing herself to be Lord Harvey]

Harvey: Yes, gentlemen, I have come to take you to freedom!

Thomas: Hurray!

Percy: My Awdry! Harvey! But I thought you were an absolute facet!

Harvey: No - just a damn fine actor! Thank Awdry I got here before you took any of those awful suicide pills!

Percy: [looks down at the cups] Errrrrr, yes... I suppose if someone had taken one and wished that he'd hadn't, he'd be able to do something about it..

Harvey: No, no - they're very odd things, you see. The symptoms are most peculiar. First of all, the victims become very very depressed. [sits on the bed, face in his hands] Oh, Awdry! [near to tears] This whole revolution is so depressing, I mean, sometimes I wonder why I bother... I mean, I'm so lonely, and nobody loves me...

Percy: ...and after the depression comes death.

Harvey: No - after the depression comes [jumps off the bed and grabs Percy's lapels, shouting] the loss of temper, you stuck-up bastard! [turns to Thomas] What you are staring at?

[punches Thomas]

Percy: ...and after the temper comes death.

Harvey: No! After the temper comes the, er... comes the, er...

Percy: ...forgetfulness?

Harvey: Er, yes, that's it... er... comes the, er...

Percy: ...forgetfulness.

Harvey: Yes, yes. Right in the middle of a...of a...thingy... you completely forget what it was you...oh, nice pair of shoes!

Percy: ...and after the forgetfulness, you die.

Harvey: Oh, no! I forgot one! After the forgetfulness comes a moment of exquisite happiness! [laughs, jumps up and down, waving his arms in the air] Jumping up and down, and waving your arms in the air, and knowing that in a minute we're all going to be free! free! free!

Percy: [getting tired of this] ...and then death?

Harvey: No - you jump into a corner first.  
[jumps into a corner; dies]

Thomas: Hurray! It's the Green Baron!

Percy: Yes, Thomas...

Thomas: ...and you killed him!

Percy: Yes, Thomas... I mean, what's the bloody point of being the Green Baron if you're going to fall for the old poisoned-cup routine? Green Baron, my foot! Brown Git, more like it! [sees that the door is still ajar] But wait! Here's our chance to escape! Come on, quick!

Thomas: But what about Mr McCallinsters?

Percy: Oh, forget Fergus McCallinsters. I wouldn't pick my nose to save his life. Now, come on. [begins to exit, but runs into Fergus McCallinsters] Ah! Fergus McCallinsters, my old friend and comrade, w-what are you doing here?

Fergus McCallinsters: I escaped! What happened here?

Percy: Oh, er, nothing, nothing... [closes cell door]

Fergus McCallinsters: Oh, I thought for a moment the Green Baron had saved you...!

[Percy chuckles nervously; looks at - and nudges - Thomas.]

[Thomas very badly fakes a laugh.]

[Scene change to Prince's house. Prince nearly has his trousers on. Percy, Fergus McCallinsters and Thomas enter.]

Prince: Ah, chaps! Good to see you. Just trying on the new trousers...

Percy: I return, Sir, as promised, plus one toff Irish aristocrat fresh from the Bastille.

Prince: [as Fergus McCallinsters bows] Ah! Please to meet you, mister. Do sit down.

Fergus McCallinsters: Enchante'... [goes to sit]

Prince: Damn sorry about the revolution and all that caper - most awfully bad luck. [to Percy] So, tell me, Percy how the devil did you get him out?

Percy: Sir, it is an extraordinary tale of courage and heroism which I blush from telling by myself, but seeing as there's no one else-

Thomas: I could try.

Percy: [baps Thomas on the back of the head] We left Sodor in good weather, but that was a far as our luck held. In the middle of Rolf Castle Harbour, we were struck by a tidal wave. I was forced to swim to Belfast with the unconscious Thomas tucked into my trousers. Then, we were taken to Dublin, where I was summarily tried and condemned to death, and then hung by the larger of my testicles from the walls of the Bastille. It was then that I decided I had enough.

Prince: Bravo!

Percy: So, I rescued the count, killed the guards, jumped the moat, ran to - where I climbed into Mr Culdee's bedroom, leaving him a small tray of milk chocolates and an insulting note. The rest was easy.

Prince: That is an incredible story - worthy of the Green Baron himself!

Percy: Well, I wouldn't know.

Fergus McCallinsters: I, on the other hand, would. [stands] Because, you see, Sir [removes glasses, wig and false nose, revealing himself to be Lord Arthur], I am the Green Baron.

Percy: Uh oh...

Thomas: Hurray!

Prince: [standing] Good lord! Lord Arthur!

Lord Arthur: Yes, Your Highness.

Prince: Well, by gads and by jingo with dumplings, steak and kidneys, and a good solid helping of sprouts! I can't believe it! You're the fellow who has single-handedly saved all those damned Irishies from the chop?

Lord Arthur: Not quite single-handedly, Sir. I operated with the help of my friend, Harvey, but he seems to have disappeared for the moment, slightly mysteriously.

[Thomas gets ready to say something.]

Percy: Shut up, Thomas.

Thomas: [line obscured by laughter]

Prince: So... So Percy rescued the Green Baron!

Lord Arthur: No, Sir, he did not.

Prince: Eh?

Lord Arthur: Prepare yourself for a story of dishonour and deceit that will make your stomach turn.

Prince: Well, I say! [to Percy] This is interesting, isn't it, Percy?

[Percy nods slowly.]

Lord Arthur: Not only that [turning and walking toward Percy], but I trust it will lead to the imprisonment of a man who is a liar, a bounder, and a cad.

[Thomas turns to look, with Lord Arthur, at Percy.]

[Percy turns to look behind himself.]

Prince: Well, bravo! because we hate liars, bounders and cads, don't we, Percy?

Percy: Generally speaking...yes, Sir. [begins to serve drinks] But perhaps before Lord Arthur starts to talk, he might like a glass of wine. [he has dropped a suicide pill into Lord Arthur's glass] He's looking a little shaken.

Lord Arthur: [taking the glass] Shaken, but not stirred. [drinks] [gives glass back to Percy, who sniffs it] [turns to Prince] It all began last week. I was sitting in Mrs Molly' coffee shop when...oh, Awdry! [holds head in his hands] All this treachery is so depressing... [shouts] I mean, the whole thing just makes you incredibly angry! [swings at Thomas, missing; Thomas falls over anyway; then Lord Arthur runs over to Prince] AND IT JUST MAKES YOU WANT TO...oh, that's a nice waistcoat, Your Majesty... er...I'm sorry; I've completely forgotten what I was talking about.

Percy: [grinning] Erm, a story of dishonour and deceit...

Lord Arthur: [smiles] Oh! That's a great story! That's great! Oh, that's a WONDERFUL STORY! Let me just jump into this corner first. [jumps into corner; dies]

Prince: [standing] Roast my raisins! He's popped it! I say, Percy, do you think he really was the Green Baron?

Percy: Well, judging from the ridiculous ostentatiousness of his death, I would say that he was.

Prince James: Well, then, that's a damn shame, because I wanted to give him this enormous postal order. [holds it up]

Percy: Please, Sir, let me finish. I would say that he was...n't. [deeply concentrating now] You see, the Green Baron would never ever reveal his identity - that's his great secret. So, what you're actually looking for is someone who has, say, just been to Ireland and rescued an aristocrat, but when asked "Are you the Green Baron?" he replies, "Absolutely not," Sir.

Prince: But, wait a minute! Percy, you've just been to Ireland, and you've rescued a Irishs aristocrat... Oh, Percy! Are you the Green Baron?

Percy: Absolutely not, Sir.

Thomas: Hurray!

[Prince, too excited for words, hands the postal order to Percy, who already has his hand waiting to take it.]

**Poll: Forth Season Thomas and Blackadder is coming up that gonna be a war but however which war and front you deem worth it?**

**Traditional Western Front 1914-1918**

**Railway War**

**AU America Front (Britain Empire vs CSA)**

**North America War 2017-2022 (Britain Imperial Commonwealth Federation vs CSA)**

**The result will on July 1st this year, and so get to it and start voting!**


	4. Sense and Senility

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode Four**  
**Sense and Senility**  
"The Prince of Brendam hires two foppish actors to help him rehearse a speech, but James has other plans in store for the two impertinent prissys."

**Guest Starring**  
Bulgy the Double Decker Bus as Bulgy the Actor,  
Bertie the Bus as Bertie the Actor,  
Duncan the Rock'n'Roll Engine as Scottish Anarchist,

**The Palace Kitchens**

(Percy walks in. Thomas looks up from polishing a shoe.)

Thomas: You look smart, Mr. Percy. Going somewhere nice?

Percy: No, I'm off to the theatre.

Thomas: Don't you like it then?

Percy: (sarcastically) No, I don't! A load of stupid actors strutting around, shouting, with their chests thrust out so far, you'd think their nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants! And the *worst* thing about it is having to go with Prince *Mini-Brain*!

Thomas: What, doesn't he like it, either?

Percy: No, no, he loves it. The problem is that he doesn't realise it's *made up*. Last year, when Brutus was about to kill Julius Caesar, the Prince yelled out, "Look behind you, Mr. Caesar!".242

Thomas: I don't see a point in the theatre. All that sex and violence. I get enough of that at home. Except for the sex, of course.

Percy: While we're out, Thomas, I want you to give this palace a good *clean*. It's so dirty, it'll be unacceptable to a dung-beetle that had lost interest in its career and really let itself go.

(The Prince calls out.)

Prince James: Come on, Percy, or we'll miss the first act!

Percy: (in a loud voice) Coming, sir, as fast as I can... Stick the kettle on, Thomas.

**The Theatre**

(Actors Bulgy and Bertie are performing.)

Bulgy: Now Sir, give I this advice to thee: Never never trust thine enemy.

(Bulgy fake-stabs Bertie under the armpit; Bertie dies dramatically. The Prince watches raptly; Percy completely disinterestedly.)

Bulgy: Thy life is forfeit... (kicks Bertie, who is still dying noisily) Thy life is forfeit, sir, and at an end, like our poor play. We hope it pleased you, friends.

(Applause, except from the Prince's box.)

Prince James: Certainly not, you murdering rotter! Guards, arrest that man!

Percy: Your Highness, it's only a play.

Prince James: Oh, well, that's all very well, but that about the poor fellow who's *dead*? Saying it's only a play will not feed and clothe the little ones he leaves behind! (shouts) Call the militia!

Percy: But sir, he's not dead. See, he stands, awaiting your applause.

Prince James: Oh, I say, that's very clever. He really isn't dead. (shouts and applauds) Oh Bravo! Bravo!

Bulgy: (mutters to Bertie) Blast, the Prince likes it!

Bertie: Oh shit, we'll close tonight.

Anarchist: Right, everybody out! Smash the Spinning Jenny! Burn the rolling Rosalind! Destroy the going-up-and-down-a-bit-and-then-moving-along Gertrude! And death to the stupid Prince who grows fat on the profits!

(He tosses a lighted bomb to the Prince. The audience scream and run for cover, except the Prince.)

Prince James: I say, how exciting! This play's getting better and better! Bravo! Bravo!

Percy: (voice from behind Prince) It's not a play anymore, sir. Put the bomb down and make your way quietly to the exit.

Prince James: Percy, you old thing, your problem is you can't tell when something's real and when it's not! (the bomb blows up)

**The Prince's Lounge**  
-

(The Prince's head is wrapped up in bandages, with some band-aids on his face.)

Prince James: I must say, Percy, that was a close shave! Why on earth would an anarchist possibly want to kill *you*?

Percy: I think it might've been *you* he was after, sir.

Prince James: Oh hogwash! What on earth makes you say that?

Percy: Well, my suspicions were first aroused by his use of the words, "Death to the stupid Prince!"

Prince James: It was a bit rude, wasn't it?

Percy: These are volatile times, your Highness. The New Columbia Revolution lost your father the Colonies, his sanity and good looks, the Irish Revolution brutally murdered mentally insane psychopathic idiotic bastard King Diesel Ten and there are tremendous rumblings in Russia, although that might have something to do with the vodka. The whole world cries out, "Peace, Freedom, and a few less fat bastards eating all the pie."

Prince James: Well, yes, quite, something must be done! Any ideas?

Percy: Yes sir. Next week is your royal father's birthday celebrations. I suggest that I write a brilliant speech for you to recite to show the oppressed masses how unusually sensitive you are.

(Percy holds a vial of smelling-salts under the Prince's nose.)

Prince James: PPHHHGGTTT! Well, tell me about these "oppressed masses", what are they so worked up about?

Percy: They're worked up, sir, because they're so poor, they're forced to have children simply to provide a cheap alternative to turkey at Christmas. Disease and depravation stalk our land like.. two giant.. stalking things. And the working man is poised to overthrow us.

(Thomas enters carrying a mop.)

Prince James: Oh my Awdry, and here he is!

Percy: Don't be silly, sir. That's Thomas, my smellist dogsbody.

Prince James: What's silly about that? He looks like an oppressed mass to me. Get him out of here at once!

Percy: Shoo, Thomas, carry on with your cleaning elsewhere. And by the end of tonight, I want that dining table so clean I can eat my dinner off it.

(Thomas leaves.)

Prince James: Cripes, Percy, I'm dicing with death here. The sooner I can show how unusually sensitive I am, the better. (burps) Oh, I just had another brilliant thought.

Percy: (sceptically) Another one, Your Highness?

Prince James: Yes, another one, actually! You remember that one I, I had about, uh, wearing underwear on the outside to save on laundry bills? Well, what I'm thinking to myself is, "Hello, why don't we ask those two actor chappies we saw tonight to teach me how to recite your speech?" Brilliant, eh?

Percy: No, Your Highness, feeble.

Prince James: What?

Percy: I would advise against it. It's a *feeble* idea.

Prince James: Well, tish-and-pish to your advice, Percy! Get them here at once! Damn it, I'd fed up with you treating me as if I'm sort of like some kind of a thickie! It's not me that's thick, it's you and you know why? Because I'm a bloody Prince and you're only a *butler*. And now go and get those actors here this minute, Mr. Thicky-Smally-Thicky-Small-Thicky.

**Molly' Coffee-Shop**

Percy: Molly, I'm looking for a couple of actors.

Mrs. Molly: Well, you've come to the right place, Mr. S. There's more Shakespearian dialogue in here than there are buns! (laughs) All my lovely actors pop in on their way to rehearsals for a little cup of coffee and a big dollop of inspiration.

Percy: You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they just got drunk, stuck on a silly hat and trusted to luck.

Mrs. Molly: Ohhh no. There's ever so much hard work that goes into the wonderful magic that is theatre today. Haa-haa... still I don't expect you'd know much about that, being only a little butler. (laughs and pinches Percy's cheek)

Percy: They do say, Mrs. M, that verbal insults hurt *more* than physical pain. (holds up a three-pronged fork) They are, of course, *wrong*, as you'll soon discover when I stick this toasting fork in your head.

(Actors Bulgy and Bertie enter.)

Bertie: (from outside) Ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome Mr. Bulgy.

Mrs. Molly: (squeals as usual) Oh hurrah!

(Bulgy enters, followed by Bertie.)

Bertie: And the fabulous Mr. Bertie.

Mrs. Molly: (applauds, continues to swoon) Gentlemen, gentlemen!

Bulgy: Settle down, settle down, settle down.

Bertie: I'm sorry, no autographs.

Bulgy: The usual, Mrs. M.

Mrs. Molly: OOoooohh, coming up, my lovely.

Percy: (noticing there's no one surrounding the actors) Ahh, if I can just squeeze through this admiring rabble... (mimes wading through a crowd) Gentlemen, I've come with a proposition.

Bertie: How dare you, sir. You think, just because we're actors, we sleep with *everyone*!

Percy: I think, being actors, you're lucky to sleep with *anyone*. I come here on behalf of my employer, to ask for some elocution lessons.

Bulgy: Haa-ha, I fear, that is quite impossible. We are in the middle of rehearsing for our new play. We cannot possibly betray our beloved audience by taking time off.

Bertie: Oh no, mustn't upset the punters. Bums on seats, laddie, bums on seats.

Percy: And what play is this?

Bertie: It is a piece we penned ourselves, called "The Bloody Murder of the Foul Prince Romero and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife".

Percy: A philosophical work then.

Bulgy: Indeed yes, sir. The violence of the murder and the vastness of the bosom are entirely justified artistically.

Percy: Right, I'll tell the Prince that you can't make it.

Bulgy: Prince?

Percy: Sorry, yes. Didn't I mention that? It's the Prince James. Sorry you can't make it. So...

Bertie: No, no, no, no please, no. Please wait, sir. (to Bulgy, who is clutching at him) Off, off! I think we can find some time, do you not, Mr. Bulgy?

Bulgy: Definitely, Mr. Bertie.

Percy: No, no, you've got your beloved audience to think about.

Bulgy: Sod the proles! We'll come.

Bertie: Yes, worthless bastards to a man.

Percy: It's nice to see artistic integrity thriving so strongly in the theatre. Well, this afternoon at four then, at the Palace. (exits)

**The Prince's Lounge**

(The Prince is wearing a long cape and a false moustache.)

Prince James: Well, what do you think?

Percy: Are you ill or something?

Prince James: No, I'm simply trying to look more like an actor.

Percy: Well, I'm sure you don't need the false moustache.

Prince James: No?

Percy: No. (tears off the Prince's moustache)

Prince James: Oowwwwh! (bumps into a cabinet; Thomas emerges clutching a feather-duster) Egads, it's that oppressed mass again! (starts to strangle Thomas)

Percy: No sir, that is Thomas spring cleaning.

Prince James: Oh yes, so it is.

Percy: Ummpf, finish the job later, Thomas.

Thomas: Very well sir. The cleaning or the being strangled?

Percy: Either suits me.

Prince James: Look Percy, this is all getting a bit hairy, isn't it? I mean, are you sure we can even trust these acting fellows? Last time we went to the theatre, three of them *murdered* Julius Caesar, and one of them was his best friend, Brutus.

Percy: As I've told you about *eight* times, the man playing Julius Caesar was *an actor* called Kemp.

Prince James: Really?

Percy: (sharply) Yes!

Prince James: Thundering gherkins! Well, Brutus must have been pretty miffed when he found out.

Percy: (very sharply) What?

Prince James: That he hadn't killed Caesar after all, just some poxy actor called Kemp. What, d'you think he went round to Caesar's place after the play and killed him then?

Percy: Oh, Awdry, it's pathetic!

**The Kitchens**

(There is a rapping at the door. Percy walks down the stairs. Thomas looks up from his silver-polishing.)

Thomas: Is that the door?

Percy: Oh, don't worry, it's just the actors.

(Continued rapping. Percy pours himself a cup of tea.)

Thomas: My uncle Stepney was in a play once.

Percy: Really?

Thomas: Yeah, it was called *Macbeth*.

Percy: And what did he play?

Thomas: Second codpiece... Macbeth wore him in the fight scenes.

Percy: So he was a stunt codpiece. (sips his tea) Did he have a large part?

Thomas: Depends who's playing Macbeth.

Percy: Oh, incidentally, Thomas - actors are very superstitious. On no account mention the word *Macbeth* this evening, alright?

Thomas: Why not?

Percy: It brings them bad luck and it makes them very unhappy.

Thomas: Oh, so you won't be mentioning it either?

Percy: No... well, not very often.

**The Prince's Lounge**

Percy: You should have knocked.

Bulgy: Our knocks, impertinent butler, were loud enough to wake the hounds of Hit!

(The actors give Percy their hats.)

Bulgy: (to Bertie) Lead on, McDuff.

Bertie: I shall...

(They enter. Percy dumps their hats on the floor and kicks them into the hall.)

Bertie: ..lest you continue in your quotations and mention the name of the "Scottish Play".

Bulgy: Oh-ho... never fear, I shan't do that. (laughs)

Percy: By the "Scottish Play", I assume you mean *Macbeth*.

(The actors perform a ritual warding off of bad luck.)

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! (slapping each others hands, pat-a-cake fashion) Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. (pinch each others noses) Aaahh!

Percy: What was that?

Bulgy: We were exorcising evil spirits. Being but a mere butler, you will not know the great theatre tradition that one does *never* speak the name of the "Scottish Play".

Percy: What, *Macbeth*?

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ohhh!

Percy: Good lord, you mean you have to do *that* every time I say *Macbeth*?

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwww!

Bertie: Will you please stop saying *that*! Always call it the "Scottish Play".

Percy: So you want me to say the "Scottish Play"?

Anarchist: YES!

Percy: Rather than *Macbeth*?

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

(Prince James enters.)

Prince James: For heaven's sake, what is all this hullabaloo, all this shouting and screaming and yelling blue murder? Why... it's like that play we saw the other day, what was it called... umm..

Percy: *Macbeth*, sir?

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

Prince James: No, no, it was called Julius Caesar.

Percy: Ah yes, of course. Julius Caesar... not *Macbeth*.

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

Percy: Are you sure you want these people to stay?

Prince James: Course, I asked them, didn't I, Mr. Thicky-Butler.

Bulgy: Your Highness, may I say what a great honour it is to be invited?

Prince James: Why certainly.

Bulgy: Thank you. (dramatically) What a great honour that it is to be invited here to make merry in the halls of our King's loins' most glorious outpouring.

Prince James: Eeergh!

Bulgy: Now, Your Highness, shall we begin straight away?

Prince James: Absolutely, yes. Now, I've got this... um...

Bertie: Now, before we inspect the script, let us have a look at stance.

Prince James: Right.

Bulgy: Yes. The ordinary fellow stands like well... as you do now.

Bertie: Whereas your hero... stands thus.

(The actors assume a heroic stance - legs spread wide, hips thrust forwards. The Prince follows suit.)

Prince James: Right. Well, that's sort of like this...

Bulgy: Excellent, Your Highness. Even more so...

Prince James: What, oh, like that? (Even wider, standing as if on a ledge. A creak sounds.) What was that noise?

Bertie: It wasn't *me*! We are used to standing in this position.

(Another creak.)

Prince James: It came from over here. (opens a trunk to find Thomas) Anarchist!

Thomas: Cleaner!

Prince James: So you've had a wash, that's no excuse! (starts strangling Thomas again)

Percy: (Enters, amidst the screams) No sir, that is Thomas spring cleaning.

Prince James: But he's, look, he's got a bomb!

Percy: That's not a *bomb*, sir, that's a sponge.

Prince James: Oh yes, so it is. Well, get it out of here at once before it explodes.

(Exit Thomas, carrying the sponge very gingerly at arm's length.)

Prince James: (continuing) Um, now, stance. I'm sorry about that. I think we really had something there, too.

Bulgy: Oh yes, Your Highness. Why, your very posture tells me, "Here is a man of true greatness."

Percy: Either that or "Here are my genitals, please kick them."

Bertie: Sir, I really must ask that this ill-educated oaf be removed from the room.

Bulgy: Yes! Get out sir. Your presence here is as useful as fine bone china at a tea-party for drunken elephants.

Prince James: Is that right? Well, yes, hang it all, get out Percy, and stop corking our juices.

Percy: Certainly, Your Highness. I'll leave you to dribble in private.

**The Kitchens**

(Percy enters, fuming, and kicks a bucket down the stairs.)

Thomas: Is something wrong, Mr. S.?

Percy: (angrily) I just about had it up to here with at that Prince. One more insult, and I'll be handing in my notice.

Thomas: Oh, does that mean I'll be butler?

Percy: Not unless some kindly passing surgeon cut your head open with a spade and sticks a new brain in it.

Thomas: Oh, right.

Percy: I don't know *why* I put up with it. I really don't. Every year at the Guild of Butlers' Christmas Party, I'm the one who has to wear the red nose and the pointy hat for winning the "Who's-Got-The-Stupidest- Master" Competition. Well, all I can say is, he'd better watch out! One more foot wrong and the contract between us will be as broken as this milk-jug.

Thomas: But that milk-jug isn't broken.

Percy: You really do walk into these things, don't you. (Smashes the milk-jug on Thomas's head.)

**The Prince's Lounge**

(The Prince is practising his heroic stance and face.)

Bertie: Excellent. And now, sir, at last, the speech.

Prince James: Right. (unfolds his speech and prepares to read it) Ahemm..

Bulgy: No, no, no, no... Your Royal Highness. What have you forgotten?

Prince James: Oh now look, if I stand any more heroically than *this*, I'm in danger of seriously disappointing my future Queen.

Bulgy: No, no, Your Highness, not the stance... the *roar*.

Prince James: You want me to roar?

Bertie: Well, of course we wish you to roar. All the great orators roar before commencing with their speeches. It is the way of things. Ah, Mr. Bulgy, from your Hamlet, please.

Bulgy: Hh-hmm... (orates) OOOOoooohhhhh... To be or not to be.

Bertie: From your Julius Caesar.

Bulgy: OoooHHHHOOOOHHH... Friends, Romans, countrymen...

(Percy enters, carrying a tray.)

Bertie: From your leading character, in a play connected with Scotland.

Percy: That's *Macbeth*, isn't it?

Anarchist: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww, oh, oww..

Bertie: (very nasally) Let's all roar together, shall we? One, two, three...

(The actors and the Prince roar - the Prince's roar being louder and embarrassingly long.)

Bulgy: Excellent, Your Highness. Now shall we try putting it all together?

Prince James: (adopts his heroic stance, screws up his face) RRROOOAAAAHHHHHHhhh...  
(glances at his speech) Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking...

Bulgy: No, no, no, alas, I fear you mew it like a frightened tree. May I see the speech? (the actors mutter together, laughing) Who wrote this dribble?

(All look at Percy.)

Percy: Is there a problem with the speech?

(The actors laugh.)

Prince James: Well, yes, there is a problem, actually. The problem is that you wrote it, Mr. Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can't-Write-For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed!

(The actors laugh again. There is a long pause, then Percy drops his tray, obviously insulted.)

Percy: Whoops!

**The Kitchens**

Thomas: They want their supper, sir?

Percy: Yes, preferably something that has first passed through the digestive system of the cat. And you'll have to take it up yourself.

Thomas: Why?

Percy: Because I'm leaving, Thomas. I'm about to enter the job market. (reads the newspaper) Right, let's see... Situations vacant: Mr. and Mrs. Duck are looking for a baby-minder to take Duck the Younger to Parliament... there's a fellow called George Stephenson has invented a steam locomotive... wants someone to help with the marketing... oh, and there's a foreign opportunity here. Treacherous, malicious, unprincipled cad, preferably non-drinker, non-smoker, non-fatso, and biker, wanted to be King of Germany. No time wasters please. By Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte Percival, PO Box 1, Dublin. Right! We're on our way!

**The Prince's Dining Room**

Bertie: Oh, ah, sir... about costume. Any thoughts?

Prince James: Well, enormous trousers, certainly. And I thought perhaps an Admiral's uniform, because we know what all the nice girls love, don't we?

(They all laugh.)

Prince James: I'll tell you what, why don't I go and try them on for you?

Bertie: Oh, super.

Prince James: Help yourselves to wine. You'll need a stiff drink when you see the size of these damn trousers!

(The actors laugh again. The Prince leaves; the laughter dies abruptly.)

Bulgy: Oh, my dear, what a ghastly evening!

Bertie: You're so right, love.

Bulgy: Look, while he's gone, why don't we have a quick read-through of "The Murder of Prince Romero and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife"?

Bertie: Act 1, Scene 1?

Bulgy: Hmmm.

Bertie: Spring has come, with all its gentle showers. Me thinks it's time to hack the Prince to death.

**The Kitchens**

Percy: Thomas, I would like to say how much I will miss your honest and friendly companionship.

Thomas: Aaahh, thank you Mr. S.

Percy: But as we both know, it'll be an utter lie. I will therefore confine myself to saying simply, "Sod off," and if I ever meet you again, it'll be twenty billion years too soon.

(Percy walks out of the room...)

Thomas: Goodbye, you lazy big-nosed, rubber-chacolate-faced bastard.

(...but not out of earshot; he comes back in. Thomas looks worried.)

Percy: I fear, Thomas, that you will soon be eating those badly chosen words. I wouldn't bet you a single groat that you can survive five minutes here without me.

Thomas: Oh come on, Mr. S., it's not as though we're gonna get murdered or anything the minute you leave, is it?

Percy: Hope springs eternal, Thomas.

(Percy leaves; the bell rings.)

Thomas: Coming!

**The Prince's Dining Room**

(The actors are still rehearsing their play. Thomas opens the door and listens.)

Bulgy: Oooooaaahhh, let's kill the Prince. Who will strike first?

Bertie: Let me, and let this dagger's point prick out his soft eyeball and sup with glee upon its exquisite jelly.

Bulgy: Have you the stomach?

Bertie: I have not killed him yet, sir, but when I do, I shall have the stomach and the liver, too, and the floppily-doppolies in their horrid glue.

Bulgy: If a servant shall hear us in our plotting?

Bertie: Ah ha! Then shall we have servant sausages for tea!

Bulgy: And servant rissoles shall our supper be!

(Thomas runs off in terror, in search of the Prince.)

**The Prince's Dressing-room**

Thomas: (shouting) Murder! Murder! The Revolution's started!

Prince James: (wearing a huge pair of trousers) What?!

Thomas: A plot, a plot to kill you!

Prince James: Ah, so you've come clean at last, have you, you bloody little poor person!

Thomas: No, look, the actors downstairs, they're anarchists!

Prince James: Anarchists!?

Thomas: Yeah, I heard them plotting. They're gonna poke out your liver, turn me into rissole, and suck on your exquisite floppily-doppolies!

Prince James: Oh, what are we going to do?

Thomas: Well, Mr. Percy says, "when the going gets tough, the tough hide under the table".

Prince James: Percy, of course! Where is he?

Thomas: Oh, he's in Germany.

Prince James: What? Why?

Thomas: You were rude to him, so he left.

Prince James: Oh no! What a mad, blundering, incredibly handsome nincompoop I've been! What are we to do? If we go downstairs, they'll chop us up and eat us alive! We're doomed, doomed!

(Thomas whines. Suspense music strikes up...)

Prince James: SHhh! Oh...

(Thomas whimpers. We hear footsteps, getting closer. Thomas and James: clutch each other. There is a creak, just before... Percy enters.)

Percy: Good evening, Your Highness.

Prince James: Oh, Percy.

Percy: Four minutes, twenty-two seconds, Thomas. You owe me a groat.

Prince James: Thank Awdry you're here! We desperately need you!

Percy: Who, me, sir? Mr. Thicky-Smally-Thicky-Green-Thicky?

Prince James: Oh tish!

Percy: Mr. Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can't-Write-For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed?

Prince James: Yes, I'm...

Percy: Mr. Brilliantly-Undervalued-Butler who hasn't had a raise in a fortnight?

Prince James: Take an extra thousand? Guineas? Per month?

Percy: All right. What's your problem?

Prince James: Well look, the actors have turned out to be vicious anarchists! They intend to kill us all!

Percy: What, are they going to *bore* us to death?

Prince James: No, no, no, stab us! Thomas overheard them.

Thomas: I did!

Percy: Are you sure they meant it, sir?

Prince James: Quite sure, Thomas, how far apart were their legs?

Thomas: Oh, this far. (spreads his legs)

Prince James: And their nipples?

Thomas: That far. (indicates on his chest)

Percy: Alright, sir, I'll see what I can do.

**The Prince's Dining Room**

Bertie: To torture him, I lust. Let's singe his hair, and up his nostrils hot bananas thrust.

Percy: Rehearsal's going well, gentlemen?

Bertie: Begone. A mere butler with the intellectual capacity of a squashed can be of no use to us.

Bulgy: Indeed yes, sir. Your participation is as irritating as a potted cactus in a monkey's pajamas.

Percy: Well, in that case, I won't interrupt you any longer. Sorry to disturb you.

**The Prince's Dressing-room**

(Thomas and the Prince are cowering under the table.)

Prince James: Percy, thank Awdry you're safe! Well, what happened?

Percy: Sir, there was no need to panic. It was all perfectly straightforward.

Prince James: Well?

Percy: They're traitors, sir. They must be arrested, brutally tortured and executed forthwith.

Prince James: Bravo! (bangs his head under the table)

**The Prince's Lounge**

(Later. The actors are tied up with two Guards holding them.)

Bertie: But Your Highness, there's been a terrible mistake.

Percy: That's what they were bound to say, sir.

Bulgy: It was a play, sir, a play! Look, all the words you heard written down on that page.

Percy: Textbook, stuff again, you see. The criminals' vanity always makes them make one tiny, but fatal, mistake. Theirs was to have their entire conspiracy printed and published in plain manuscript. (to Guards) Take them away!

Anarchist: Mercy, we beg for mercy... please sir.

Percy: I have got only one thing to say to you... *Macbeth*!

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends...

(The actors are led out.)

Prince James: Well done, Smaller! How can I ever thank you?

Percy: Well, you can start by not calling me "Smaller", sir. (calls out) Macbeth!

(Distant sounds of the actors' ritual drift in from outside...)

Prince James: Of course, Smaller. No sooner said than done. No hard feelings?

Percy: No sir. It's good to be back in the saddle. Did I say saddle? I mean harness.

Prince James: Bravo! So we're the best of friends as ever we were.

Percy: Absolutely sir.

Prince James: Hurrah!

Percy: In fact now with the evil Bertie and Bulgy have got their comeuppance, the Hackenback Theatre is free. I thought we might celebrate by staging a little play that I've written.

Prince James: Oh, what an excellent idea! And with my new found acting skills, um, might there be a part in it for me, do you think?

Percy: I was hoping you might play the title role, sir.

Prince James: What a roaring good idea! What's the play called?

Percy: Thick Jack Clot Sits in the Stocks and Gets Pelted with Rancid Tomatoes.

Prince James: Excellent!

**I Can't to be King!**

**parody from Lion King**

Prince James: I'm gonna be the greatest king,  
So everyone beware!

Percy: Well, I've never seen a Sodor king  
With such a stupid heir

Prince James: I'm gonna be the sanest king  
Like never seen before  
I'm working hard on being smart  
My brain is feeling sore

Percy: Well, that's not a very surprising thing

Prince James: Oh, I just can't wait to be king!

Percy: (Let's hope the country lasts, your highness, when you rule...)

Prince James: No more butlers around

Percy: (It's for your own good)

Prince James: No more smelly Thomas

Percy: (I'll fire him, sir...)

Prince James: No more silly wooing

Percy: (It had to be done...)

Prince James: No more stupid duels!

Percy: (I won't fight them!)

Prince James: Free to buy the things I want

Percy: (But the parliament's against...)

Prince James: Free to spend it all my way!

Percy: I think it's time that you and I  
Arranged a heart to heart

Prince James: I don't need advice,  
From silly butlers for a start!

Percy: So this is where the monarchy is headed  
It's so wrong  
Stupid princes, stupid dogsbodies  
I wouldn't last that long  
That royal git is getting on my nerves

Prince James: Oh, I just can't wait to be king!

Prince James: Everyone will love me  
Everyone will honour me  
Though I don't know how to  
Rule a kingdom

Percy: That's right!

Thomas: Let everyone dance on the streets and sing  
To celebrate our newest Sudrian king  
It's gonna be the greatest royal thing

Prince James: Oh, I just can't wait to be king!  
Oh, I just can't wait to be king!  
Oh, I just can't waaaaaait ... to be king!

**Poll: Forth Season Thomas and Blackadder is coming up that gonna be a war but however which war and front you deem worth it?**

**Traditional Western Front 1914-1918**

**Railway War**

**AU America Front (Britain Empire vs CSA)**

**North America War 2017-2022 (Britain Imperial Commonwealth Federation vs CSA)**

**The result will on July 1st this year, and so get to it and start voting oh yeah spread the word to those who enjoy Thomas and Blackadder!**


	5. Emily and Amiability

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode 5**  
**Emily and Amiability**  
"The Prince is dead broke again and no self-respecting princess will marry the randy royal... until Percy comes up with a deliciously devious plan!"

**Guest Starring**  
Emily the Single Sterling Engine as Emily Sterling, the elusive Shadow,  
Skarloey the Old Faithful Engine as Mr. Sterling, her father,  
Clarable the Coach as Clarable Ffarharquar, a young lady of dubious virtue,  
Neville the Engine as The Duke of Ffarharquar, her father,

The Palace Kitchens

(Thomas is plucking a goose. Percy is sitting at the kitchen table.)

Percy: Oh Awdry! Bills, bills, bills. One is born, one runs up bills, one dies! And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. A butler's uniform and a slightly effeminate hairdo! Honestly Thomas, I sometimes feel like a pelican - whichever way I turn, I've still got an enormous bill in front of me. Pass the biscuit barrel. (Thomas does so) Let's see what's in the kitty shall we? (shakes out a few coins) Ninepence! Oh Awdry, what are we going to do?

Thomas: Don't worry Mr S., I have a cunning plan to solve the problem.

Percy: Yes Thomas, let us not forget that you tried to solve the problem of your mother's low ceiling by cutting off her head.

Thomas: But this is a really good one. You become a dashing highwayman, then you can pay all your bills and, on top of that, everyone'll want to sleep with you.

Percy: Thomas, I could become a prostitute and pay my bills, then everyone would want to sleep with me - but I do consider certain professions beneath me. But besides which, I fail to see why a common thief should be idolised, just because he has a horse between his legs.

Thomas: My favourite's the Shadow. (Admiringly) What a man! They say he's half-way to being the new Robin Hood.

Percy: Why only half-way?

Thomas: Well he steals from the rich, but he hasn't got round to giving it to the poor yet. Look! I've got a poster of him.

(Thomas holds up a poster which reads "Wanted for Hanging, The Shadow. Reward...")

Percy: Thomas, I have no desire to get hung for wearing a silly hat. If I want to get rich quick, all I have to do is go upstairs and ask Prince Fathead for a rise.

(The Prince rings.)

Percy: Oop! The bank's open!

The Prince's Lounge

Percy: Good morning sir. May I say how *immensely* rich you're looking? Now, was there anything you wanted? Anything at all? Absolutely anything?

Prince James: Well yes, old fellow, I was wondering if you could possibly lend me a bit of cash.

Percy: But of course sir. I- cash?

Prince James: Yes, I'm rotten stinking stoning stinking broke!

Percy: But sir, what about the five thousand pounds that Parliament voted you only last week to drink yourself to death with?

Prince James: All gone I'm afraid. You see, I've discovered this terrifically fun new game. It's called "cards". What happens is, you sit round the table with your friends, and you deal out five "cards" each, and then the object of the game is to give away all your money as quickly as possible. Do you know it?

Percy: Vaguely sir, yes.

Prince James: All the chaps say I'm terrific at it.

Percy: I seem to remember I was very bad at it. I always seemed to end up with more money than I started with.

Prince James: Yes, well, it's all down to practice. I'm a natural apparently. The only drawback, of course, is that it's pretty damned expensive. So, basically, I was wondering if you could lend me a couple of hundred.

Percy: I'm afraid that's impossible sir. I'm as poor as a church mouse that's just had an enormous tax bill on the very day his wife ran off with another mouse, taking all the cheese.

Prince James: Well what am I going to do?

Percy: Yes, it's a difficult one.

Prince James: Hmm.

Percy: Let's see now. You can't borrow money, you're not going to inherit any money and obviously you can't earn money. Sir, sir, drastic situations call for drastic measures. If you can't make money, you'll have to marry it.

Prince James: Marry? Never! I'm a gay bachelor, Percy. I'm a roarer, a rogerer, a gorger and a puker! I can't marry, I'm young, I'm firm buttocked, I'm...

Percy: Broke?

Prince James: Well, yes, I suppose so.

Percy: And don't forget, sir, that the modern Church smiles on roaring and gorging within wedlock, and indeed rogering is keenly encouraged.

Prince James: And the puking?

Percy: Mmm, I believe still very much down to the conscience of the individual church-goer.

Prince James: Well yes, tally-ho then Percy. Yes, you fix it up. You know the kind of girls I like, they've got to be lovers, laughers, dancers...

Percy: And bonkers!

Prince James: That goes without saying!

The Kitchens

(Percy is leafing through a book, while in the background Thomas is pulling the giblets out of his bird.)

Percy: Oh Awdry!

Thomas: Something wrong, Mr S.?

Percy: I can't find a single person suitable to marry the prince.

Thomas: Oh please keep trying. I love a royal wedding. The excitement, the crowds, the souvenir mugs, the worrying about whether the bride's lost weight.

Percy: Unlikely with this lot I'm afraid. If the prince had stipulated "must weigh a quarter of a ton" we'd be laughing. Of the 262 princesses in Europe, 165 are over 80, they're out, 47 are under 10, they're out, and 39 are mad.

Thomas: Well they sound ideal.

Percy: Well they would be if they hadn't all got married last week in Munich to the same horse. Which leaves us with two.

Thomas: And what about them?

Percy: Well, there's Grand Duchess Sophia of Moscow. We'll never get her to marry him.

Thomas: Why not?

Percy: Because she's *met* him.

Thomas: Which leaves?

Percy: Caroline of Amsterdam as the only available princess in Europe.

Thomas: And what's wrong with her?

Percy: "Get more coffee! It's horrid! Change it! Take me roughly from behind! No, not like that, like this! Trousers off! Tackle out! Walk the dog! Where's my presents?"

Thomas: (flustered) All right! Which one do you want me to do first?

Percy: No, that's what Caroline's like. She is famous for having the worst personality in The Netherlands. And as you can imagine, that's up against some pretty stiff competition.

Thomas: So you're stuck then.

Percy: Yes, I'm afraid I am. Unless, oh unless! Pass me the paper Thomas quick. (he opens the paper) Thomas, why has half the front page been cut out?

Thomas: I don't know.

Percy: You do know, don't you?

Thomas: Yes.

Percy: You've been cutting out the cuttings about the elusive Shadow to put in your highwayman's scrapbook haven't you?

Thomas: Oh, I can't help it Mr S. His life is so dark and shadowy and full of fear and trepidation.

Percy: So is going to the toilet in the middle of the night, but you don't keep a scrapbook on it.

Thomas: (surprised) I do.

Percy: Let's see. Now let's see, society pages. You see, it needn't necessarily be a princess. All the Prince wants is someone pretty and rich.

Thomas: Oh dear, that rules me out then.

Percy: Now, let me see. "Lady in purple pants probe." "King talks to tree. Phew what a loony!" Awdry, the Times has really gone downhill recently hasn't it! Aha. Listen to this, listen to this: "Mysterious Northern beauty, Miss Emily Sterling, comes to Suddery and spends flipping great wadges of cash!" That's our baby!

The Prince's Bedroom

(Percy is brushing down the Prince's jacket.)

Prince James: Honestly Percy, I don't know why I'm bothering to get dressed. As soon as I get to the Naughty Hitfire Club I'll be debagged and radished for non-payment of debts.

Percy: Radished, sir?

Prince James: Yes, they pull your breeches down and push a large radish right up your-

Percy: Yes, yes, yes, all right. There's no need to hammer it home.

Prince James: Well as a matter of fact they do often have to-

Percy: No, no! No! Your em, your money worries are, are, are over sir.

Prince James: Well hoorah for that!

Percy: I have found you a bride. Her name is Emily, daughter of the noted industrialist, Mr Sterling.

Prince James: Oh dammit Percy, you know I loathe industrialists. Sad, balding, little proles in their "damn your eyes" whiskers. All puffed up just because they know where to put the legs on a pair of trousers.

Percy: Eh, believe me, these people are the future. This man probably owns half of Peel Godred. His family's got more mills than, than you've got brain cells.

Prince James: How many mills?

Percy: Seven sir.

Prince James: Quite a lot of mills then.

Percy: Yes. He has patented a machine called "The Ravelling Nancy".

Prince James: Mmm, what does it do?

Percy: It ravels cotton sir.

Prince James: What for?

Percy: That I cannot say sir. I am one of these people who are quite happy to wear cotton, but have no idea how it works. She is also a beauty, sir.

Prince James: Well if she's gonna be my bird, she'd better be! Right, so what's the plan?

Percy: Well I thought I could take her a short note expressing your honourable intentions.

Prince James: Yes, yes, I think so too. All right then, well take this down. Eh, "From His Royal Highness, the Prince of Brendam to Miss Emily Sterling. Tally-ho my fine saucy young trollop! Your luck's in! Trip along here with all your cash, and some naughty night attire, and you'll be staring at my bedroom ceiling from now till Christmas, you lucky tart! Yours with the deepest respect etc, signed James:. PS Woof woof!" Well, what do you think?

Percy: It's very *moving* sir. Would you mind if I change just one tiny aspect of it?

Prince James: Which one?

Percy: The words.

Prince James: Oh yes, I'll, I'll, I'll leave the details to you Percy. Just make sure she knows I'm all man... with a bit of animal thrown in. Rrrrgh!

Percy: Certainly sir. (Scores out the Prince's letter)

The Home of Emily Sterling

Percy: From his Royal Highness the Prince of Brendam to Miss Emily Sterling:- "The upturned tilt of you tiny wee nosy, smells as sweet as a great big posy." Fanciful stuff of course madam, but, but from the heart.

Emily: He says my nosy is tiny?

Percy: And wee, madam.

Emily: Well he must be an awful clever clogs, because you see, my nosy is tiny, and so wee, that I sometimes think the pixies gave it to me!

Percy: He continues. "Oh Lady Emily, queen of all your sex." I apologise for  
the word, madam, but Prince James: is a man of passion.

Emily: Oh, don't worry, I can get pretty cross myself sometimes. Tell me Mr. Percy, I've heard a teensy rumour that the Prince has the manners of a boy cow's dingle dangle. What do you have to say to that?

Percy: Oh, that is a lie madam. Prince James: is shy and just pretends to be bluff and crass and unbelievably thick and gittish, whilst deep down he is a soft little marshmallowy, pigletty type of creature.

Emily: Oh I'm so glad, because you see, I'm a delicate tiny thing myself, weak and silly and like a little fluffy rabbit. So I could never marry a horrible heffalump, or I might get squished. Tell me, when can I meet the lovely Prince?

Percy: (surprised) You want to meet him?

Emily: Well if we're going to get married I think I probably ought to. I know! Tell him to come and serenade me tonight. I'll be on my balcony in my jim-jams.

Percy: Certainly madam.

(Mr Sterling enters.)

Mr Sterling: Ay up! Who's this big girl's blouse then ?

Emily: Father, this is Mr. Percy, he's come a-wooing from the Prince.

Percy: You have a beautiful and charming daughter, sir.

Mr Sterling: Indeed I do. I love her more than any pig, and that's saying summat!

Percy: It certainly is.

Mr Sterling: And let me tell you, I'd no more place her in the hands of an unworthy man than I'd place my John Thomas in the hands of a lunatic with a pair of scissors.

Percy: An attitude that does you credit sir.

Mr Sterling: I'd rather take off all my clothes and paint my bottom blue than give her to a man who didn't love her!

Percy: What self-respecting father could do more ?

Mr Sterling: On the other hand, if he's a prince, he can have her for ten bob and a pickled egg.

Percy: I can see where your daughter gets her ready wit, sir.

Mr Sterling: I thank you.

Percy: Although where she gets her good looks and charm is perhaps more of a mystery.

Mr Sterling: No one ever made money out of good looks and charm.

Percy: You obviously haven't met Lady Elizabeth, sir. (bows slightly and leaves)

The Kitchens

(Thomas is forcing stuffing into his goose.)

Percy: I tell you Thomas, I'm not looking forward to this evening. Trying to serenade a light fluffy bunny of a girl in the company of an arrogant half German yob with a mad dad.

Thomas: Well, he is the Prince of Brendam.

Percy: Have you ever been to Brendam, Thomas?

Thomas: No, but I've often thought I'd like to.

Percy: Well don't, it's a ghastly place. Huge gangs of tough sinewy men roam the valleys terrifying people with their close harmony singing. You need half a pint of phlegm in your throat just to pronounce the placenames. Never ask for directions in Brendam Thomas, you'll be washing spit out of your hair for a fortnight.

Thomas: So, eh, being Prince of it isn't considered a plus? (hammers a large orange into the goose)

Percy: I fear not, no. But the crucial thing is that they must never be left alone together before the marriage.

Thomas: But isn't that a bit unfair on her?

Percy: Well it's not exactly fair on him either. The girl is wetter than a haddock's bathing costume. But you know Thomas, the world isn't fair. If it was, things like this wouldn't happen would they? (hits Thomas around the back of the head)

Under Emily's Balcony

(The Prince and Percy are hiding behind some bushes. They speak in whispers.)

Prince James: All right, so what's the plan? Shin up the drain and ask her if she'll take delivery of your consignment of Dutch sausage?

Percy: No sir, as we rehearsed, poetry first, sausage later.

Prince James: Right. So what do you think? "Harold the Horny Hunter" should do the trick.

Percy: Just remind me of it, sir?

Prince James: (loudly) "Harold the Horny hunter, had an enormous horn..."

Percy: Shh yes yes. It is absolutely excellent sir, however, might I suggest an alternative?  
(hands the Prince a poem)

Prince James: "Lovely little dumpling, how in love I am. Let me be your shepardkins, you can be my lamb." Well, I think we'll be very lucky if she doesn't just come out onto the balcony and vomit over us, but still, let's give it a whirl.

Percy: Just stand right here sir. Right. Call for her romantically.

Prince James: Right. (shouts) Oy! Come on out here, you rollicking trolloping sauce bottle!

Emily: James?

Prince James: Woof woof!

(Emily appears on the balcony. Percy grabs the Prince, covering his mouth.)

Emily: Is that you?

Percy: Y-y-yes, yes 'tis I, your gorgeous little love bundle

Emily Oh James:, I think you must be the snuggly wuggliest lambkin in the whole of Toyland.

Prince James: Yuch! (Percy silences him again)

Emily: What was that?

Percy: Am, em. Nothing, there was just a little fly in my throaty. Yuch! Yuchh!

Emily: Do you want a hanky-wanky to gob the phlegmy wemmy woo into? (she leans over the balcony, pulling a handkerchief from the top of her dress)

Prince James: Phwoah! Crikey!

Emily: Oh, what was that? Is there someone down there with you?

Percy: No, no, no, it was just the wind whistling through the trees and making a noise that sounded like "phwoaaaah.. crikeeeeee".

Emily: Oh joy! Then come Prince Cuddlykitten, climb up my ivy.

Prince James: Sausage time! (strides forward)

Emily: There is someone down there with you!

Percy: Oh my Awdry, yes, yes, so there is, a filthy intruder spying on our love.

Emily: Oh hit him James, hit him!

Percy: Very well. (whispers to the Prince) Would you mind screaming, Your Highness. (loudly) Take that. (punches him in the face) And that! (knees him in the groin) And that! (hits his back; the Prince falls to the ground)

Emily: Oh, oh, oh you're so brave! And I'm so worn out with all the excitement that I'd better go sleepy-bo-bos, otherwise I'll be all cross in the morning. Nighty-night Georgy Porgy!

Percy: Nighty-wighty Emily-wEmily. (she vanishes; to the Prince) I think it worked, sir. In the morning I shall go in and ask her father; you go out and start spending his money. I can't stand meanness when it comes to wedding presents. And well done sir, you were brilliant.

Prince James: Was I?

Percy: Yes sir.

Prince James: But I'm in agony!

Percy: Well, that's love for you.

The Home of Emily Sterling

Percy: Sir, I come as emissary of the Prince of Brendam with the most splendid news. He wants your daughter Emily for his wife.

Mr Sterling: Well his wife can't have her! Outrageous, sir, to come here with such a suggestion! (stands up angrily) Why, sir, or I shall take off my belt and by thunder me trousers will fall down!

Percy: No sir. Sir, you misunderstand. He wants to marry your lovely daughter.

Mr Sterling: Ah, ah. (falls back into his chair, amazed) Can it be possibly true? Surely love has never crossed such boundaries of class? (clutches Emily's hand)

Emily: But what about you and Mum?

Mr Sterling: Well yes, yes, I grant thee when I first met her I was the farmer's son and she was just the lass who ate the dung, but that was an exception.

Emily: And Aunty Nelly and Uncle Ted.

Mr Sterling: Yes, yes alright, he was a pig poker and she was the Duchess of Argyle, but-

Emily: And Aunty Ruth and Uncle Isiah, she was a milkmaid and he was-

Mr Sterling: The Pope! Yes, yes, all right. Don't argue. Suffice it to say if you marry we need never be poor or hungry again. Sir, we accept.

Percy: Good. So obviously you'll be wanting an enormous cer-e-mon-y- what did you say?

Mr Sterling: Well obviously, eh, now we're marrying quality, we'll never be poor or hungry again.

Percy: Meaning that you're poor and hungry at the moment?

Mr Sterling: (with feeling) Oh yes! We've been living off lard butties for five years now. I'm so poor I use my underpants for drying dishes.

Percy: So you're skint?

Mr Sterling: Aye.

Percy: Well in that case, the wedding's off. Good day.

Emily: Oh but what about Georgy's lovey-wovey poems that won my hearty-wearty?

Percy: All writteny witteny by mewee I'm afraidy-waidy. Goodbye.

The Prince's Lounge

Percy: Sir, you know I told you to go out and spend a lot of money on wedding presents, well appar-

Prince James: (sitting amongst a huge collection of glittering objects) Yes?

Percy: Nothing.

The Kitchens

(Percy enters, putting on a large black cape.)

Percy: Crisis Thomas, crisis! No marriage, no money, more bills! For the first time in my life I've decided to follow a suggestion of yours. Saddle Prince James's horse.

Thomas: Oh sir, you're not going to become a highwayman, are you?

Percy: No, I'm auditioning for the part of Jim the Bat in Jerry's new comedy.

Thomas: Oh, that's all right then.

Percy: Thomas, have you no idea what irony is?

Thomas: Yeah, it's like goldy and bronzy, only it's made of iron.

Percy: Never mind, never mind, just saddle the Prince's horse.

Thomas: That'll be difficult, he wrapped it round that gas lamp in the Strand last night.

Percy: Well saddle my horse then.

Thomas: What d'you think you've been eating for the last two months?

Percy: Well go out into the street and hire me a horse.

Thomas: Hire you a horse? For ninepence? On Jewish New Year in the rain? A bare fortnight after the dreaded horse plague of old Suddery Town? With the blacksmith's strike in its fifteenth week and the Dorset horse fetishists fair tomorrow?

Percy: Right, well get this on then. (hands Thomas a bridle and bit) It looks as though you could do with the exercise.

Robbing the Ffarharquar Coach

Clarable: Honestly Papa. Ever since Mother died you've tried to stop me growing up. I'm not a little girl, I'm a grown woman. In fact I might as well tell you now Papa: I'm pregnant, and I'm an opium fiend, and I'm in love with a poet called Gordon who's a famous whoopsy, and Mother didn't die, I killed her!

Duke of Ffarharquar: Oh. (cheerily) Well, never mind.

Percy: (off-screen) Stand and deliver! (the coach starts to pull up)

Duke of Ffarharquar: Oh no! Oh no no no no no, disaster! It's the Shadow. We're doomed, doomed!

Percy: (draws up outside the window) Ah, good evening Duke, and the lovely Miss Ffarharquar. Your cash bags please. (the Duke hands him a bag of money) There we are.

Duke of Ffarharquar: You'll never get away with this, you scoundrel, you'll be caught and damn well hung!

Clarable: (to camera) I think he looks pretty well-

Percy: Madam, please, no jests about me looking pretty well hung already, we have no time.

Clarable: Pity.

Percy: Now sir, turn out your pockets.  
Duke of Ffarharquar: Never sir. A man's pockets are his own private kingdom. I'll protect them with my life!

Percy: Oh I see, you've got something embarrassing in there have you? Perhaps a particularly repulsive handkerchief, hmm? One of those fellows who has a big blow and then doesn't change it for a week? Let's have a look shall we? (takes the handkerchief and pulls out a jewel) Aha!

Clarable: Highwayman, I also have a jewel. I fear however that I have placed it here, beneath my petticoats, for protection.

Percy: Well in that case madam, I think I'll leave it. I'm not sure I fancy the idea of a jewel that's been in someone's pants. A single kiss of those soft lips is all I require.

Duke of Ffarharquar: Never sir! A man's soft lips are his own private kingdom. I shall defend them with my life.

Percy: I'm not talking to you, Grandad.

Clarable: (kisses him long and hard) Oh, I'm overcome. Take me with you to live the life of the wild rogue, cuddling under haystacks and making love in the branches of tall trees!

Percy: Madam, sadly I must decline. I fear my horse would collapse with you on top of him as well as me!

Thomas: (appears next to Percy, wearing his harness) I could try!

Percy: No Quicksilver, you couldn't.

Thomas: But that's not fair then. I've had you on my back for ten miles and I haven't even got a kiss out of it.

Percy: Oh alright, very well then. (kisses Thomas) All fair now?

Thomas: Not really, no.

Percy: Teh, no pleasing some horses. Hi-ho Quicksilver.

Thomas: Neiighh!

Clarable: (accusingly) Papa, you did nothing to defend my honour.

Duke of Ffarharquar: Oh shut your face, you pregnant junky fag-hag!

A Grassy Knoll in the Forest

Percy: Well Thomas, a good night's work I think. It's time to divide the loot, and I think it's only fair that we should share it equally.

Thomas: Which I suppose is highwayman's talk for you get the cash, I get the snotty hanky.

Percy: No, no. No, we did this robbery together, so you get half the cash.  
(hands him a money-bag)

Thomas: Oh, thank you Mr S.

Percy: This robbery, on the other hand, I'm doing alone. (holds his pistol to Thomas's head) Hand it over, your money or your life! (Thomas complies) You see? All fair and above board.

Thomas: Fair enough. As long as I haven't been cheated, I don't mind.

Shadow: Hands up! I am the Shadow and I never miss.

Percy: Oh no.

Shadow: You, the one that looks like a pig.

Percy: He's talking to you Thomas.

Shadow: Skedaddle. (Shoots at Thomas's feet; Thomas runs away) So who have we here? (takes off Percy's cap) Well, a well set up fellow indeed. Sir, a kiss.

Percy: Sorry, I'm not sure I heard that correctly.

Shadow: Oh dear, maybe your ears need unblocking. (holds his gun to Percy's head)

Percy: Oh I see, a kiss, oh of course, of course, of course, and then perhaps a little light supper, some dancing, who, who knows where it might lead?

(The Shadow wraps his cloak around Percy, kisses him, and then sweeps his cap revealing long golden hair - it is Emily Sterling.)

Percy: Good lord! It's you!

Emily: (deep Shadow voice) Of course.

Percy: But your voice, it's-

Emily: (normal voice) Clever, isn't it?

Percy: Does your father know you're out?

Emily: He had to go.

Percy: You mean he's dead?

Emily: Yes, dead as that squirrel!

Percy: Which squirrel? (she shoots a squirrel, which falls with an "eep" and a thud) Oh, that squirrel. Of course, you killed him for ruining your chances of marrying Prince James.

Emily: Huh, I despise the Prince. Don't you know it's you I want? I want a real man. A man who can sew on a button. A man who knows where the towels are kept. And yes, I crave your fabulous sinewy body.

Percy: Well, you're only human.

Emily: Here's the plan, brown eyes. You rob the Prince of everything he's got, right down to the clothes he's standing in. I'll get my stash and meet you here and then we'll run away to the West Indies.

Percy: Well I don't know I'll have to think about it. (pause) I've thought about it, it's a brilliant plan. I'll see you here tomorrow.

(Emily shoots another squirrel - "eep", thud.)

The Kitchens

Percy: (finishing loading up a barrow of valuables) Right, I'm off.

Thomas: Oh sir, but what about the danger? Look, the reward is going up day by day. (holds up a poster, "Reward 5000 pounds")

Percy: Pah! I laugh in the face of danger. I drop ice cubes down the vest of fear. Things couldn't be better Thomas. She'll get me abroad and make me rich, then I'll probably drop her and get two hundred concubines to share my bed.

Thomas: Won't they rather prickly?

Percy: Concubines Thomas, not porcupines.

Thomas: Oh. I still can't believe you're leaving me behind.

Percy: Oh, don't you worry. When we're established on our plantation in Barbados, I'll send for you. No more sad little Suddery for you Tommy, from now on you will stand out in life as an individual.

Thomas: Will I?

Percy: Well of course you will, all the other slaves will be black.

(Percy starts to wheel out his barrow; Molly rushes in.)

Mrs. Molly: Oh! Mr Percy, oh, what's all this I hear about you buying a bathing costume and forty gallons of coconut oil? Are you going abroad then sir?

Percy: Yes, I'm off.

Mrs. Molly: Oh sir, what a tragic end to all my dreams. And I'd always hoped that you'd settle down and marry me and that together we might await the slither of tiny Smalls. (she sobs against Percy's chest)

Percy: Mrs M., if we were the last three humans on Earth, I'd be trying to start a family with Thomas!

(Molly screams and cries.)

On a Grassy Knoll

Percy: Well, here I am, all packed and ready to go.

Emily: Oh darling, I'm so pleased to see you, and I've got a little surprise for you. Close your eyes and open your mouth.

Percy: (does so) Mmmm.

Emily: (points her pistol in Percy's mouth) Ha, ha. Hand over the loot, goat brains!

Percy: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. I, I always said the bedrock of a good relationship was being able to laugh together. Good, well done. So, which way to Barbados?

Emily: You're not going to Barbados. Get away from the cart, Mr Slimey, or I'll fill you so full of lead we could sharpen your head and call you a pencil.

Percy: This is turning into a really rotten evening.

Emily: Yes, well you better make the most of it, because it's your last. And it's a pity, because it's usually against my principles to shoot dumb animals.

Percy: Except squirrels?

Emily: Yes! Bastards! I hate them with their long tails and their stupid twitchy noses. (shoots two squirrels, "eep", "eep") I shall return at midnight to collect the loot, when I'll fill you so full of holes I could market you as a new Sudrain cheese! (Shadow voice) Ha ha ha ha ha!

Percy: Oh Awdry! What a way to die! Shot by a transvestite on an unrealistic grassy knoll!

(Thomas wanders up.)

Thomas: Morning Mr S.

Percy: Bal- Thomas? Thomas! Thank you for introducing me to a genuinely new experience.

Thomas: What experience is that?

Percy: Being pleased to see you! Now what are you doing here, you revolting animal?

Thomas: I've come for the Shadow's autograph. You know I'm a great fan of the Shadow's.

Percy: Yes, yes, just untie me Thomas, come on.

Thomas: What, has he gone? Oh what a pity, I wanted him to autograph my new poster. Look, his reward has gone up to ten thousand pound.

Percy: Good lord, ten thousand pounds.

Thomas: Yep.

Percy: That gives me an idea. Thomas, take this cartload of loot back to the palace and meet me back here at midnight, with ten soldiers, a restless lynch mob and a small portable gallows.

The Prince's Bedroom

(Percy enters with the Prince's breakfast tray.)

Prince James: Aha, brekkers! I could eat fourteen trays of it this morning and still have room for a dolphin on toast!

Percy: Any particular reason for this gluttonous levity sir?

Prince James: Well, what do you think Percy, I'm in love! I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love. Oh Emily, bless all ten of your tiny little pinkies. Oh, let's see what's in the paper. (reads) Oh my Awdry, she's been arrested and hanged!

Percy: (casually) Oh really?

Prince James: It turns out she was a highwayman!

Percy: Teh, these modern girls.

Prince James: Apparently someone tipped off the authorities and collected the ten thousand pound reward. What a greasy sneak. Oh, if only I could get my hands on him.

Percy: Teh, you can't trust anyone these days sir.

Prince James: It says here that she had an accomplice.

(Alarmed, Percy drops the breakfast tray.)

Prince James: But they don't know who it was.

(The tray flies back up unto Percy's hands.)

Prince James: Emily, Emily, Emily, I shall never forget you, never ever, ever ever! (sobs into his pillow) Right, what's for breakfast?

Percy: Kedgeree, sir.

Prince James: Great. Actually, come to think of it Percy, I didn't need to get married anyway. I've got pots of money.

Percy: Really?

Prince James: Mmm. The most extraordinary thing happened. I was a bit peckish during the night, so I nipped downstairs to the biscuit barrel.

Percy: (worried) The biscuit barrel?

Prince James: And do you know what I found inside? (Percy nods despairingly) Ten thousand pounds that I never knew I had! I've got so much money now I don't know what to do with it!

Percy: How about a game of cards sir?

Prince James: Excellent idea!

**Poll: Forth Season Thomas and Blackadder is coming up that gonna be a war but however which war and front you deem worth it?**

**Traditional Western Front 1914-1918**

**Railway War**

**AU America Front (Britain Empire vs CSA)**

**North America War 2017-2022 (Britain Imperial Commonwealth Federation vs CSA)**

**The result will on July 1st this year, and so get to it and start voting oh yeah spread the word to those who enjoy Thomas and Blackadder!**


	6. Duel and Duality

Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3

I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine

Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!

**Percy the Third**  
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder

**Main starring**  
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,  
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,  
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,  
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,

**Episode Six**  
**Duel and Duality**  
"James finds himself in the middle of a raucous duel between the lascivious Prince of Brendam and the head-splitting, throat-slitting Toby of Hackenback!"

**Guest Starring**  
Toby the Tram Engine as The Toby of Hackenback, a famous soldier,  
Sharpe the Ex-Furness Engine as King James III, a Mad Monarch,  
Sunshine the Tugboat as Percy McSmall  
==============================================================

**The Palace Kitchens**

Thomas: Ooh! Mr. Percy.

Percy: Leave me alone Thomas. If I'd wanted to talk to a vegetable I'd have bought one at the market.

Thomas: Well don't you want this message?

Percy: No thank you... Awdry, I'm wasted here. It's no life for a man of noble blood being servant to a master with the intellect of a jugged walrus and all the social graces of a potty.

Thomas: I'm wasted too. I've been thinking of bettering myself.

Percy: Oh, really? How?

Thomas: I applied for the job of village idiot of Quarry.

Percy: Oh. Get anywhere?

Thomas: I got down to the last two, but I failed the final interview.

Percy: Oh, what went wrong?

Thomas: I turned up. The other bloke was such an idiot he forgot to.

Percy: Yes, well I'm afraid my ambitions stretch slightly further than professional idiocy in West Suddery. I want to be remembered when I'm dead. I want books written about me. I want songs sung about me. And then hundreds of years from now I want episodes from my life to be played out weekly at half past nine by some great heroic actor of the age.

Thomas: Yeah, and I could be played by some tiny tit in a beard.

Percy: Quite. Now, what's this message?

Thomas: I thought you didn't want it?

Percy: Well I may do. It depends what it is.

Thomas: So you do want it?

Percy: Well I don't know, do I? It depends what it is.

Thomas: Well, I can't tell you unless you want to know, and you said you didn't want to know, and now I'm so confused I don't know where I live or what my name is.

Percy: Your name is of no importance and you live in the pipe in the upstairs water-closet. (looks at note) Oh Awdry! Was the man who gave you this, by any chance, a red-headed lunatic with a kilt and a claymore?

Thomas: Yeah, and the funny thing was, he looked exactly like you.

Percy: My mad cousin McSmall. The most dangerous man ever to wear a skirt in Europe.

Thomas: Yeah, he come in here playing the bag-pipes, then he made a haggis, sang Auld Lang Sayne and punched me in the face.

Percy: Why?

Thomas: Because I called him a knock-kneed Scottish pillock.

Percy: An unwise action, Thomas, since Mad McSmall is a homicidal maniac.

Thomas: My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.

Percy: Yes. If this is the same mother who confidently claimed that you were a tall handsome stallion of a man, I should treat her opinions with extreme caution.

Thomas: I love my mum.

Percy: And I love chops and sauce but I don't seek their advice. I hate it when McSmall turns up. He's such a ginger-eyed, beetle-browed basket-case.

Thomas: (in Percy's ear) He's the spitting image of you.

Percy: No he's not. We're about as similar as two completely... dissimilar things in a pod. What's the old tartan throw-back banging on about this time? (reads) "Have come South for the rebellion." Oh Awdry! Surprise, surprise... "Staying with Molly. The time has come. Best sword and Scotland. Insurrection... Blood... Large bowl of porridge... Rightful claim to throne..." He's mad. He's mad. He's madder than Mad Jack McMad the winner of last year's Mr Madman competition.

(The Prince's bell rings.)

Percy: Ah! The walrus awakes.

**The Prince's Bedroom**

Prince James: Ah Percy. Notice anything unusual?

Percy: Yes sir, it's 11:30 in the morning and you're moving about. Is the bed on fire?

Prince James: Well, I wouldn't know, I've been out *all night*. Guess what I've been doing? Wraaarrhhhh...

Percy: Beagling, sir?

Prince James: Better even than that. Sink me Percy if I, if I haven't just had the most wonderful evening of my life.

Percy: Tell me all sir.

Prince James: Well as you know when I set out I looked divine. At the party as I passed all eyes turned.

Percy: And I daresay quite a few stomachs.

Prince James: Well that's right. And then these two ravishing beauties came up to me and whispered in my ear.. that they loved me. (licks his lips)

Percy: And what happened after you woke up?

Prince James: Oh, (falls onto bed) this was no dream Percy. Five minutes later I was in a coach flying through the Suddery night bound for the ladies' home.

Percy: And which home is this? A home for the elderly or a home for the mentally disadvantaged?

Prince James: Oh no no no no no. This was Apseley House. Do you know it?

Percy: Yes sir. It is the seat of the Toby of Hackenback. Those ladies I fancy would be his nieces.

Prince James: Ooh, so you fancy them too? Well, I don't blame you. Bravo. I spent a night of ecstasy with a pair of Toby and I loved it.

Percy: Sir, it may interest you to know that the Woody Toby has always let it be known that he will kill in cold blood anyone who takes sexual advantage of any of his relatives.

Prince James: Yes, but Big-nose Toby is in France fighting the Irish, he'll never know.

Percy: On the contrary sir. Toby triumphed six months ago.

Prince James: I'm dead.

Percy: It would seem so sir.

Prince James: I haven't got a prayer, have I Percy?

Percy: Against Throat-slasher Crack-shooting Toby? The finest blade His Majesty commands? Not really no.

Prince James: Then I shall flee. How's your Irish Percy?

Percy: Parfait mister. But I fear Ireland will be not far enough.

Prince James: Well how's your Mongolian?

Percy: Mmm, chang hatang motzo motzo. But I fear Toby is a close personal friend of the chief Mongol. They were at Peel Godred together.

Prince James: I'm doomed. Doomed as the dodo.

(There is a knock on the door.)

Prince James: Oh my Awdry, he's here, Toby's here already!

(Thomas enters with a letter.)

Prince James: Oh, Your Grace, forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing. I was a mad, mad, sexually over-active fool.

Percy: Sir, it's Thomas. You're perfectly safe.

Prince James: Well, hurrah!

Percy: (reads letter) Ah, until 6 o'clock tonight.

Prince James: Hurrooh.

Percy: "From the Supreme Commander, Allied Forces Europe. Sir, Prince or pauper, when a man soils a Toby he puts his foot in it. P.S: This is not a joke. I do not find my name remotely funny, and people who do end up dead. Close bracket. I challenge you to a duel tonight at 18 hundred hours in which you will die. Yours with sincere apologies for your impending violent slaughter, Toby Tram, Toby of Hackenback."

Thomas: Sounds a nice polite sort of bloke.

Prince James: (cries) Ahh ah ahhh haaa haaawww.

Percy: Oh, don't worry sir, please. Just consider that life is a valley of woe filled with pain, misery, hunger and despair.

Prince James: Well not for me it bloody isn't! As far as I'm concerned life is a big palace full of food, drink, and comfy sofas.

Thomas: May I speak, sir?

Percy: Certainly not Thomas! The Prince is about to die. The last thing he wants to do in his final moments is exchange pleasantries with a certified plum-duff.

Prince James: Easy Percy, let's hear him out.

Percy: Very well Thomas. We shall hear you out, then throw you out.

Thomas: Well, Your Majesty, I have a cunning plan which could get you out of this problem.

Percy: Don't listen to him sir. It's a cruel proletarian trick to raise your hopes. I shall have him shot the moment he's finished clearing away your breakfast.  
Prince James: No wait Percy. Perhaps this disgusting degraded creature is some sort of blessing in disguise.

Percy: Well if he is, it's a very good disguise.

Prince James: After all, did not our Lord send a lowly earthworm to comfort Rocket in his torment?

Percy: (firmly) No.

Prince James: Well, it's the sort of thing he might have done. Well, come on Mr. Spotty, speak.

Thomas: Well, Your Majesty, I just thought - this Toby bloke's been in Europe for years. You don't know what he looks like. He don't know what you looks like. So why don't you get someone else to fight duel instead of you?

Prince James: But I'm the Prince James! My portrait hangs on every wall!

Percy: Answer that, Thomas.

Thomas: Well my cousin Jinty, General Bertram "Old Warrior" England's butler's dogsbody, says that he's heard that all portraits look the same these days, 'cause they're painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true depiction of the idiosyncratic facial qualities of the person in question.

Percy: (impressed) Your cousin Jinty obviously has a larger vocabulary than you do, Thomas.

Prince James: No, now, he's right damn him. Anybody could fight the duel and Toby would never know.

Percy: All the same sir, Thomas's plan does seem to hinge on someone willing to commit suicide on your behalf.

Prince James: Oh yes yes yes, but he would be fabulously rewarded. Money, titles, castles..

Percy: A coffin, erm...

Thomas: That's right, I thought maybe Mr. Percy himself would fancy job.

Prince James: What a splendid idea!

Percy: Excuse me Your Highness. Trouble with the staff.

(Thomas and Percy leave the room. Percy grabs Thomas by the lapels.)

Percy: Thomas, does it have to be this way? Our valued friendship ending with me cutting you into long strips and telling the Prince that you walked over a very sharp cattlegrid in an extremely heavy hat?

Thomas: Mr. Percy, you was only just saying in the kitchen how you wanted to rise again - now here the Prince is offering you the lot.

Percy: But, tiny tiny brain, the Woody Duke will kill me. To even think about taking him on you'd have to be some kind of homicidal maniac who was fantastically good at fighting, like McSmall, like McSmall... (excited) Like McSmall could fight the duel for me!

(Percy re-enters the Prince's bedroom.)

Percy: (calmly) My apologies sir. I was just having a word with my insurance people. Obviously I would be delighted to die on your behalf.

Prince James: Awdry's toenails Percy, I'm most damnably grateful. You won't regret this you know.

Percy: Well that's excellent. There's just one point though sir, re: the suicide policy. There's an unusual clause which states that the policy holder must wear a big red wig and affect a Scottish accent in the combat zone.

Prince James: Small print eh? Huh.

**Mrs Molly' Coffee Shop**

(Disarray. Flecks of porridge everywhere. Molly is sitting on a table leaning back on the counter.)

Percy: Ah, Molly. Am I to gather from your look of pie-eyed exhaustion and the globules of porridge hanging off the walls that my cousin McSmall has presented his credentials?

Mrs. Molly: Oh yes indeed sir. You've just missed him.

Percy: I trust he has been practising with his claymore.

Mrs. Molly: Oooooh, I should say so! I'm as weary as a dog with no legs that's just climbed Ben Blue.

Percy: A claymore is a sword, Molly.

Mrs. Molly: See this intricate wood carving of the infant Samuel at prayer? He whittled that with the tip of his mighty weapon with his eyes closed.

Percy: Yes, exquisite.

Mrs. Molly: He bid me bite on a plank, there was a whirlwind of steel, and within a minute three men lay dead and I had a lovely new set of gnashers. (grins woodenly)

Percy: Really. Just tell him to meet me here at 5 o'clock, will you? To discuss an extremely cunning plan. If all goes well by tomorrow the clan of McSmall will be marching back the high road back to glory.

Mrs. Molly: Ooh lovely. I'll do you a nice packed lunch.

**The Prince's Quarters**

(Percy enters, looks for the Prince in the lounge and walks through into the bedroom.)

Percy: Good news, Your Majesty. This evening I will carve the Duke into an attractive piece of furniture with some excellent dental work. Your Highness? Your Highness!

(The bedroom door swings closed revealing the Prince hiding behind it, his fingers in his ears.)

Prince James: Ooohh! Oh, thank Awdry it's you Percy. I've had just word from Toby, he's on his way here now.

Percy: Ah, that's awkward. The Duke must believe from the very start that I am you.

Prince James: Hmm, well, hmm, any ideas?

Percy: There's no alternative, we must swap clothes. (starts to take off his jacket)

Prince James: Oh fantastic, yes, dressing up. I love it. It's just like that story, ah, "The Prince And The Porpoise".

Percy: "..and the Pauper" sir.

Prince James: Oh yes! Yes yes yes, "The Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper".

(They exchange clothes and wigs.)

Prince James: Excellent, excellent. Why, my own father wouldn't recognise me.

Percy: Your own father never can. He's mad.

Prince James: Oh yes, yes.

(They walk through into the lounge.)

Percy: Unfortunately, sir, you do realise that I shall have to treat you like a servant?

Prince James: Oh, I think I can cope with that, thank you, Percy.

Percy: And you will have to get used to calling me "Your Highness", Your Highness.

Prince James: "Your Highness, Your Highness."

Percy: No, just "Your Highness", Your Highness.

Prince James: That's what I said, "Your Highness, Your Highness", Your Highness, Your Highness.

Percy: Yes, let's just leave that for now, shall we? Complicated stuff obviously.

(Thomas enters.)

Thomas: Big Nose is here... But what?.. Who?.. Where?.. How?..

Percy: Don't even try to work it out Thomas. Two people you know well have exchanged coats and now you don't know which is which.

Prince James: I must say I'm pretty confused myself! Which one of us is Toby?

Percy: (exasperated) Toby is the man at the door.

Prince James: Oh. And the porpoise?

Percy: Hasn't arrived yet sir. We'll just have to fill in as best we can without it. Sir, if you would let the Duke in.

Prince James: Certainly, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

Percy: And you'd better get out too, Thomas.

Thomas: Yes, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

Percy: Oh Awdry! If only they had a brain cell between them.

(The Prince ushers in Toby.)

Prince James: The Toby of Hackenback!

Toby of Hackenback: Have I the honour of addressing the Prince James, sir?

Percy: You do.

Toby of Hackenback: Hmm, congratulations, Highness, your bearing is far nobler than I'd been informed... (to the Prince) Take my hat at once, sir, unless you want to feel my boot in your throat! And be quicker about it than you were with the door.

Prince James: Yes, my lord.

Toby of Hackenback: I'm a Duke not a Lord! (clouts the Prince) Where were you trained, the Dago dancing class? Shall I have my people thrash him for you, Highness?

(The Prince signals "No" from behind Toby.)

Percy: Errm.. No, he's very new. At the moment I'm sparing the rod.

Toby of Hackenback: Ah! Fatal error. Give them an inch and before you know it they've got a foot, much more than that and you don't have a leg to stand on. Get out! (Clouts the Prince). Now sir, to business. I am informed that your royal father grows ever more eccentric and at present believes himself to be (reads) "a small village in Lincolnshire, commanding spectacular views of the Nene valley." I therefore pass on my full account of the war on to you, the Prince of Brendam. (hands Percy a saddle-bag)

Percy: Ah that's excellent. Thank you. (feels in bag, takes out a note) "We won, signed Toby." Well, that seems to sum it up very well. Was anything else?

Toby of Hackenback: Two other trifling things Highness.. The men had a whip-round and got you this. Well, what I mean is I had the men roundly whipped until they got you this. It's a cigarillo case engraved with the regimental crest of two crossed dead Irishsmen, emblazoned on a mound of dead Irishmen motif.

Percy: Thank you very much. And the other trifling thing?

Toby of Hackenback: Your impending death, Highness.

Percy: Oh yes, of course, mind like a sieve.

Toby of Hackenback: Mmm, I can not deny I'm looking forward to it. Sodor has the finest trade, the finest armies, the finest navies in the world. And what do we have for royalty? A mad Viking sausage sucker and a son who can't keep his own sausage to himself. The sooner you're dead the better.

Percy: You're very kind.

Toby of Hackenback: Now, you're no doubt anxious to catch up with the news of the war. I have here the most recent briefs from my general in the field...

Percy: Yes, well if you would just like to pop them in the laundry basket on the way out. Tea?

Toby of Hackenback: Yes, immediately.

(Percy rings the bell.)

Toby of Hackenback: Now, let's turn to the second front, my lord. (unfolds a map on the table)

Percy: Ah yes. (inspects map) Now, as I understand it Percival is in Norway. And the Bulldog Duke is stationed in...

Toby of Hackenback: Iceland. In case Perky should try to trick us by coming via the North.

Percy: Yes... Perhaps a preferable stratagem, Your Grace, might be to harry him amid-ships as he leaves the North Sea. Shetland might be quite a good spot...

Toby of Hackenback: Shetland? Well, I'll mention it to Duke. I must say I'm beginning to regret the necessity of killing you, Your Highness. I'd been told by everybody that the Prince was a confounded moron.

Percy: Oh, no no no no no.

(The Prince enters with the tea-tray.)

Toby of Hackenback: Oh Hit and buckshot! It's that tiresome servant of yours again.

Prince James: Ooh, budge up, budge up. (sits down next to Percy)

Toby of Hackenback: How dare you, sir, sit in the presence of your betters! Get up!

Prince James: Oh yes, cripes. I forgot.

Toby of Hackenback: You speak when you're spoken to. Unless you want to be flayed across a gun carriage. Well? (hits the Prince)

Percy: Sir, sir, I fear you have been too long a soldier. We no longer treat servants that way in Suddery society.

Toby of Hackenback: Why, I hardly touched the man!

Percy: Aah, I think you hit him very hard.

Toby of Hackenback: Nonsense, a hard hit would be like that! (hits the Prince, hard) I only hit him like that. (once more hits him)

Percy: No sir, a soft hit would be like this. (hits the Prince) Whereas you hit him like this. (and again, hard)

Prince James: (gets back to his feet) Please, um, I wonder if I might be excused, Your Highness, Your Highness.

Percy: Certainly. (Aside) I'm sorry about that, sir, but one has to keep up the pretence.

Prince James: No, no. I quite understand. You carry on the good work.

Percy: Very well sir. (once more hits him)

Toby of Hackenback: Hang on, this is bloody coffee! I ordered tea! (grabs the Prince by the ear and drags him back to the table) You really are a confounded fool. Aren't you? I'd heard everywhere that the Prince was an imbecile whereas his servant Percy was respected about town. Now that I discover the truth I'm inclined to beat you to death. TEA! (kicks the Prince out of the door)

Percy: Tell me, do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?

Toby of Hackenback: NEVER! There's only one way to win a campaign: shout, shout and shout again.

Percy: You don't think then that inspired leadership and tactical ability have anything to do with it?

Toby of Hackenback: NO! It's all down to shouting. WAAGGHH!

Percy: I hear that conditions in your army are appalling.

Toby of Hackenback: Well I'm sorry, but those are my conditions and you'll just have to accept them. That is until this evening when I shall kill you.

Percy: Hmm, who knows, maybe I shall kill you.

Toby of Hackenback: Dyaa. Nonsense. I've never been so much as scratched, my skin is as smooth as a baby's bottom. Which is more than you can say for my bottom.

Percy: Yes. One point, sir. I should, perhaps, warn you that while duelling I tend to put on my lucky wig and regimental accent.

Toby of Hackenback: That won't help you. It would take a homicidal maniac in a claymore and a kilt to get the better of me!

Percy: Well that's handy.

**The Kitchens**

Prince James: I tell you Thomas, I'm not leaving the kitchen until that man is out of the house.

(There is a knock on the door and the bell rings.)

Thomas: It's all right, Your Majesty, don't worry, I'll deal with this.

(The Prince hides behind the scullery door.)

Mrs. Molly: Ah hello Thomas. I've brought your buns. Where's Mr. Percy? Oh, not upstairs still, running around after that port-swilling, tadpole-brained smelly-boots?

Thomas: (carefully) I don't know who you mean.

Mrs. Molly: Prince James, Thomas. His boots smell so bad a man would need to have his nose amputated before taking them off. Well, that's what Mr. Percy says.

Thomas: As a joke.

Mrs. Molly: Didn't you write a little poem about him last week?

Thomas: No I didn't.

Mrs. Molly: Ooh you did:  
In the Winter it's cool,  
In the Summer it's hot,  
But all the year round,  
Prince James is a clot. (laughs)

Thomas: A lovely. I said Prince James is a lovely.

Mrs. Molly: Oh well. I'd better be off anyway. Tell Mr. Percy to expect Mr. McSmall at five o'clock. Just as soon as that fat Prussian truffle has got his snout wedged into a bucket of tea-cakes. (makes grunting noises)

Thomas: (calls after her) I think it must be next door you're wanting, strange woman who I've never seen before Molly.

Prince James: (sharply) Thomas!

Thomas: Yes, Your Highness?

Prince James: Is it true? Did you really write a poem about how lovely I am?

Thomas: (fondly) Yes, and Mr. Percy loves you too. (smiles sweetly)

Prince James: Well I must say. I find that very touching. I do.

(The bell rings again.)

Prince James: I wish they wouldn't keep on doing that.

**The Prince's Lounge**

Toby of Hackenback: Well goodbye sir. And may the best man win. I.e. me.

Prince James: Your tea, sir.

Toby of Hackenback: You're late! Where the Hit have you been for it, India? (hits him)

Percy: Or Ceylon? (also hits the Prince)

Toby of Hackenback: Or China? (kicks the Prince, who falls down onto the coffee-table) And don't bother to show me the way out. I don't want to die of old age before I get to the front door.

**Molly' Coffee Shop**

(Percy enters, dressed in his normal clothes.)

Percy: Ah! Molly. So where's McSmall? I thought he was going to be here at five o'clock.

Mrs. Molly: Yes, I'm sorry. He's just popped out. You look ever so similar to each other you know, it's quite eerie.

Percy: (annoyed) Look, did you tell him to be here or not?

Mrs. Molly: I did, you just keep missing each other. I can't imagine why.

McSmall: (enters) I'll tell you why. It's because there's no coffee shop in Sodor big enough for two Percys.

Percy: Ah! Good day, cousin McSmall. I trust you are well.

McSmall: Aye, well enough.

Percy: And Morag?

McSmall: She bides fine.

Percy: And how stands that mighty army, the clan McSmall?

McSmall: They're both well.

Percy: I always thought that Jamie and Angus were such fine boys.

McSmall: Angus is a girl. So tell me cousin, I hear you have a cunning plan.

Percy: I do, I do. I want you to take the place of the Prince James and kill the Toby of Hackenback in a duel.

McSmall: Aye, and what's in it for me?

Percy: Enough cash to buy the Outer Harwick. What do you think?

McSmall: Fourteen shillings and six-pence? Well, it's tempting. But I've got an even better plan. Why don't I pretend to be the Toby of Hackenback kill the Prince of Brendam in a duel? Then I could kill the King and be crowned with the ancient stone bonnet of McSmall.

Mrs. Molly: And I shall wear the granite gown and limestone bodice of MacMolly, Queen of all the herds.

Percy: Look, for Awdry's sake, McSmall, you're not Rob Roy. You're a top kipper salesman with a reputable firm of Tidmouth fishmongers. Don't throw it all away. If you kill the Prince they'll just send the bailiffs round and arrest you.

McSmall: Oh blast, I forgot the bailiffs.

Percy: So we can return to the original plan then?

McSmall: No, I'm not interested. I'd rather go to bed with the Loch Lomond monster. And besides I have to be back in the office on Friday. I promised Mr. Star I'd shift a particularly difficult bloater for him. Forget the whole thing. I'm off home with Mollsy.

Mrs. Molly: Yes, yes. Show me the glen where the kipper roams free. And forget Morag forever.

McSmall: No, never. Oh, I must do right by Morag. We must return to Scotland and you must fight in the old Highland way - bare breasted and each carrying an eight pound baby.

Mrs. Molly: Oh, yes, yes. I love babies. (kisses McSmall)

McSmall: You're a woman of spirit! I look forward to burying you in the old Highland manner. Farewell Percy, you spineless goon! (they leave)

Percy: Oh Awdry! Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.

The Prince's Lounge

(Percy enters, dressed as the Prince.)

Prince James: Ah, Percy. It has been a wild afternoon full of strange omens. I dreamt that a large eagle circled the room three times and then got into bed with me and took all the blankets. And then I saw that it wasn't an eagle at all but a large black snake. Also Duncan's horses did turn and eat each other. As usual. Good portents for your duel, do you think?

Percy: Not very good sir. I'm afraid the duel is off.

Prince James: OFF?

Percy: As in "sod". I'm not doing it.

Prince James: By thunder, here's a pretty game. You will stay, sir, and do duty by your Prince. Or I shall...

Percy: Or what? You port-brained twerp. I've looked after all my life. Even when we were babies I had to show which bit of your mother was serving the drinks.

Prince James: (kneels) Please please. You've got to help me. I don't want to die. I've got so much to give. I want more time.

Percy: A poignant plea sir. Enough to melt the stoniest of hearts. But the answer, I'm afraid, must remain: "You're going to die, fat pig."

Prince James: Oh, wait, wait, wait. I'll give you everything.

Percy: Everything?

Prince James: Everything.

Percy: The money, the castles, the jewellery?

Prince James: Yes.

Percy: The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of Irishs lithographs?

Prince James: Everything.

Percy: The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his trousers every half hour?

Prince James: Yes, yes, alright.

Percy: Very well, I accept. A man may fight for many things: his country, his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally I'd mud wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock, and a sack of Irish porn. You're on.

Prince James: Hurrah!

**The Duel**

Percy: Right Thomas, now here's the plan. When he offers me the swords, I kick him in the nuts and you set fire to the building. In the confusion we claim a draw.

Thomas: Yes.

Toby of Hackenback: Ah, Your Highness. Let's be about our business.

Percy: Now don't forget Thomas. You (motions the striking of a match) when I (raises knee).

Toby of Hackenback: Come sir. Choose your stoker.

(Toby holds out a case containing two pink, fluffy cannon stokers.)

Percy: What, are we going to tickle each other to death?

Toby of Hackenback: No sir. We fight with cannon.

Percy: But I thought we were fighting with swords.

Toby of Hackenback: Swords! What do you think this is, the middle ages? Only girls fight with swords these days. Stand by your gun sir. Hup two three. Hup two three.

Percy: Wait a minute, what the...

Toby of Hackenback: Stand by cannon for loading procedure... Stoke. Muzzle. Wrench. (Carries on in this way while Percy is talking) Crank the storm barrel. Pull tee bar.  
Percy: "Congratulations on choosing the Armstrong Whitworth four-pounder cannonette. Please read the instructions carefully and it should give years of trouble free maiming."

Toby of Hackenback: Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim...

Percy: Look, wait a minute.

Toby of Hackenback: FIRE!

(The cannon fires. Percy drops to the ground. Mournful music strikes up.)

Thomas: Mr. S., Mr. S.! Sir, please help me get his coat off.

Percy: Leave it Thomas. It doesn't matter.

Thomas: Yes it does. Blood's Hit to shift. I want to get it in to soak.

Toby of Hackenback: You die like a man sir. In combat.

Percy: You think so? Dammit, we must build a better world. When will the killing end?

Toby of Hackenback: You don't think I too dream of peace? You don't think that I too to end this damn dirty job we call soldiering?

Percy: Frankly, no. My final wish on this Earth is that Thomas be sold, to provide funds for a Percy foundation to promote peace, and to do research into the possibility of an automatic machine for cleaning shoes. And so I charge... (slumps back)

Toby of Hackenback: His Highness is dead.

Percy: (the music scratches to a halt) Actually, I'm not sure I am. Fortunately that cigarillo box you gave me was placed exactly at the point where the cannon-ball struck. (produces a very dented case). I always said smoking was good for you.

Toby of Hackenback: Ah ha ha. Honour is satisfied. Awdry clearly preserves you for greatness. His Highness is saved. Hurrah.

Prince James: (enters) Umm, no actually it's me, I'm His Highness. Well done Smallers, glad you made it.

Toby of Hackenback: What in the name of Percival's balls is this fellow doing now?

Prince James: Ahh, no no, I really am His Highness. It was all just larks, and darn fine larks at that I thought.

Toby of Hackenback: I have never, in all my campaigns, encountered such insolence! Your master survives an honourable duel and you cheek him like a Irish whoopsy! I can contain myself no longer! (draws his pistol and shoots the Prince)

Prince James: I die. I hope men will say of me that I did duty by my country.

Percy: I think that's pretty unlikely sir. If I was you I'd try for something a bit more realistic.

Prince James: Like what?

Percy: That you hope men will think of you.. as a bit of a thicky.

Prince James: All right, I'll hope that then. Toodle-oo everyone. Let you know and all that. (dies)

(Horns sound.)

Speaker: Here for His Majesty, The King of Sodor.

King: Someone told me my son was here. I wish him to marry this rose bush. I want to make the wedding arrangements.

Percy: (thinking quickly) Here I am, Daddy. This is the Woody Toby, commander of all your armed forces.

King James: Yes I recognised the enormous conk. Ha ha ha.

Toby of Hackenback: He's a hero. A man of wit and discretion.

King James: Bravo. You know, my son, for the first time in my life I have a real fatherly feeling about you. People may say I'm stark raving mad and say the word Penguin after each sentence, but I believe that we two can make Sodor Great - you as the Prince James and I as King Penguin.

Percy: Well, let's hope eh? Toby, will you come and dine with us at the palace? My family have a lot to thank you for.

Toby of Hackenback: Dyahh, with great pleasure. Your father may be as mad as a balloon, but I think you have the makings of a great king.

King James: Ah, wunderbar er hoff seiht. Ja.

Percy: Oh and Thomas? Clear away that dead butler will you.

(The King, Percy and Toby exit leaving Thomas cradling the Prince's head)

Thomas: (looks up) There's a new star in heaven tonight... A new freckle on the nose of the giant pixie.

Prince James: Erm! No, actually Thomas, I'm not dead. You see I had a cigarillo box too, look. (rummages in his jacket) Oh damn, I must have left it on the dresser... (dies)

**Preview**

**Never in the history of the world seen such chaos as the war itself so join Captain James Redadder and the band of gung-ho, stinky, lousy soldiers as they try to get out the trenches without dying!**


End file.
